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VERNAL FALLS, YOSEMITE VALLEY 
(350 feet from brink to base.) 


Courtesy Southern Pacific. 




EL CAPTIAN. YOSEMITE VALLEY. 
(3300 feet from base to top.) 


Courtesy Southern Pacific, 


YOSEMITE VALLEY 


The world-wide famous, emerald-tinted, wonderful 
Yosemite Valley is situated on the west coast of the Sierra 
Nevada range of mountains which divide California from 
the rest of the world. About 150 miles from San Francis- 
co, and being about the central section of a range thirty- 
six miles in length and forty-eight in breadth— known as 
The Yosemite National Park, Yosemite Valley is a great 
gorge, about eight miles long by about three-quarters of a 
mile wide, running almost due east and west, and was 
discovered in 1851. 

Yosemite Valley well deserves its fame as a world- 
wonder, with its granite domes and cliffs, its glacial 
canyons, its polished pavements and amphitheaters, its 
cataracts roaring over cliffs that lift their crests half a 
mile above the valley floor, its merry streams gleaming 
amid verdant groves and meadows furred with flowers. 

Its center is a level park-like meadow thru which a 
tuneful river runs; a peaceful place where water-loving 
trees and plants and flowers adorn its lovely expanse. 

Yosemite is a spot of infinite loveliness set as a resting- 
place amid the stress and turmoil of the mighty world- 
making of the mountains, serene from the stupendous 
labor of the storms, the lightnings and the avalanches of 
the upper range. And, all about the Valley, lies the High 
Sierra with its white ranks of peaks, its chains of lakes 
(more than 500 being in the National Park) and not far 
away, and still in the Park boundary, is the great forest 
of giant trees whose age and size are equaled nowhere 
else in the known world — and internationally famous as 
the “Big Trees of California.” 

In spring-time all the charming falls and cascades are 
full and most beautiful, and the Valley and mountain- 
borders are replete with full-blooming wild flowers. But 
as spring passes into summer the water-falls become 
smaller and flowers fewer. 


Toward the end of August the sunshine grows hazy, 
announcing the coming of Indian summer, when the land- 
scapes are more mellow and soft; the mountain light is 
tinged with pale purple and the warm, brooding days are 
full of life. The cool nights are very impressive and 
calm. At last when the flowers shall have survived a 
summer, full and rich with fragrant service, their duty 
done, the seeds preserved by Nature, to furnish future 
summers with their sweet blessings, the sighing pines 
tell the coming of “Winter Beautiful.” 

The delights of Yosemite beggar an attempt at descrip- 
tion. Its cliffs and domes deceive all measurements of 
the eye, and penetrate the very sky. The great South 
Dome, whose massive front is cleft straight down for more 
than a thousand feet, and polished smooth by the winds 
and storms of ages; El Capitan, projecting buttress-like, 
out into the valley, three thousand three hundred feet 
sheer above the valley floor; Glacier Point, easily accessi- 
ble, from which one looks down the perpendicular granite 
wall for more than three thousand feet to the floor of the 
valley; Bridal Veil, nine hundred feet high and one of 
the most beautiful waterfalls in all the world; and Yo- 
semite Falls, which tumble down an awful twenty-six 
hundred feet, are but a few of the inexpressibly beautiful 
and inspiring sights awaiting the visitor. 

Above the level, tranquil loveliness rise mile-high, cloud- 
supporting walls, grim and gray in place, here and there 
colored marvelously. Sculptured giant-fashion into domes 
and half-domes, spires and pinnacles and frowning preci- 
pices, recessed for dropping rivers, these Sierra walls 
encompass the meadow and make of it the flowerful floor 
of a great chasm. 

Yet brook and meadow, green and flowering color of wild 
blossom, own the sunshine and are not overborne by the 
carved mountains above; the daisy is as much at home in 
the Yosemite as is the cloud-like Half Dome at the head 
of the Valley. In waterfalls and sheer cliffs the Yosemite 
is supreme. Nowhere else do rivers thunder over cliffs a 
half-mile high! nor in any other place have the snow- 
waters of high mountains found such variety and beauty 
of courses down mountain walls to unify in a valley river. 
Out from beneath the great snow mantle of the High Sier- 
ra in spring, pour the snow-waters into the cup of the 
Yosemite; and all summer, tho in lessening volume, these 


forested, flowering, lake-dotted mountains, great reservoirs 
of crystal clear water, continue to feed the streams of the 
Valley. 

There are comfortable tent villages in summer for those 
who would he out-of-doors; and for others, nearer kin to 
the wilderness and who would rest beneath bright stars, 
there is the whole width of the Sierra, with dry, clear 
summer nights and sunny days. 

One lacks for no comfort, and the place is accessible the 
year round. Winter trips to Yosemite have become popu- 
lar, and accommodations are arranged since the opportun- 
ity for a real winter in California has opened, with the 
joys of skeeing, skating and tobogganing. The glory of the 
place, in the winter season, with its great bastions roofed 
with curving parapets of white, its falls silent and frozen, 
its trees decked with the starry blossoms of the snow; is 
wonderfully impressive, and the trip a vast enjoyment to 
the Californian, to whom winter usually means sunny 
beaches, flowering uplands, orange groves and rose 
bowers. 

The floor of the Valley is four thousand feet above the 
surf, and the place is in the innermost stronghold of the 
Sierra. 

Yosemite Valley is a great chasm surrounded by walls 
often sheer, as that of the Half Dome, with its five 
thousand feet of vertical drop, and El Capitan, with its 
thirty-three hundred feet of cliff; but of wonderful variety 
of form — a corridor of stone, once awful in its nakedness, 
with streams of ice and torrents of water, avalanches of 
rock and snow howling amid its elemental silence and 
leaving their indelible inscriptions for future ages to de- 
cipher. Now each ice stream is a little river, the glacier 
cascades are foaming falls, the trails of the avalanche are 
marked with woods, and the great Yosemite Glacier itself 
is a park of verdure, of clustering trees and a silver river. 
Thru an atmosphere of trembling crystal, the iris dust of 
cataracts tumbles over cliffs of pearl and their voices 
mingle with the soft winds and rustling leaves, and sound 
like the surf beating on the beaches, thousands of feet 
below. Emerald verdure carpets the ice-ground floor of 
the great stone corridor, the terrible fractures of the up* 
heaved, ice-tortured cliffs, are hidden by quivering cur- 
tains of broken light and shade as the clouds fly in airy 
tumult above, and the emerging sun opens up azure spaces. 


The domes are smoothed by distance, the stern recesses 
of the walls hold cool pools of violet shade, many of the 
rocks are crystalline and everything is a-quiver with light, 
vibrant with the impulse of the sun shafts, alive with the 
vigor of world growth. 

Glacier mud makes the grandest of gardens, and nearly 
everywhere, on the slopes, as on the floor of the valley, 
verdure is exuberant. The flora of the valley is remark- 
able in its range from Alpine shrubs and flowers to blooms 
that flourish at sea-level. There are some nooks of the 
valley where flowers blossom in these miniature gardens 
the year round, living on stored-up sunshine in the crags 
surrounding them. Nearly everywhere that soil can rest, 
flowers spring up. Lilies, larkspur and lupine, honey- 
suckle, purple primrose, violets white and violets blue, 
painter’s-brush, Mariposa tulips, mints and sunflowers, 
orchids and maccasin-flowers, scarlet snow-plants, daisies, 
geranium and goldenrod, spiraea, columbine and harebells, 
gilias and phloxes. Of the shrubs are azalea and rhodo- 
dendron, wild lilac, wild cherry, wild rose, laurel, ceano- 
thus, manzanita, dwarf-oak and willow and chinquapin. 
There are ferns of every size from plumy woodwardias 
eight feet high to dainty ivy ferns, delicate maidenhairs 
and tiny tufted fronds that grow among the rocks. About 
them are butterflies and humming-birds, warblers, tana- 
ger, oriole and nuthatches. 

But birds are not numerous in the Valley, nor anywhere 
in the National Park — notwithstanding statements to the 
contrary in John Muir’s book on “Our National Parks,” 
and which is generally accepted as authoritative. Nor are 
numerous the “brilliantly colored lizards ranging from the 
size of a grasshopper to twelve inches in length,” which 
Mr. Muir would have us believe enliven the Valley or 
the Park. On the contrary, the casual visitor will And no 
more lizards anywhere in the Yosemite National Park than 
could be found elsewhere basking in the sunshine along 
rail fences or among sunny rocks — and certainly none 
twelve inches in length. 

Bear, deer, and other forest roamers are found in the 
Valley, but are seldom seen by the tourist; squirrels raise 
prosperous families, keeping all the woods lively with 
their cunning alertness, and shy according to your degree 
of fellowship — but protected under governmental rule. 


The Valley-floor on which stands a hotel, and tent en- 
campments in pleasant and picturesque places, has for its 
center a level meadow — and thru this lovely vale runs the 
Merced river — swelling and rolling in billowy waves, and 
occasionally deepening into a quiet pool — as if to make a 
retreat for the fishes. The river, augmented by the 
falls and by a multitude of silvery founts, winds thru the 
verdant vale; the “Mad” Merced, some call it from the 
foamy tumult of its cataracts and rapids, some the 
“Merry” Merced, from the happy song it sings as it hast- 
ens on. Above it bend the tasseled alders, the graceful 
willows and flowering dogwood. From the heights the 
stretches of shrubbery, groves of pine and black oak, the 
flowered meadows with the ever-shifting bands and spots 
of cloud shadow, turn the valley into a mosaic of charming 
color. One of the things to marvel at is the exquisite 
proportionment of it all; the little white violets that bor- 
der Mirror Lake are as much in place, as much at home, as 
the highest minaret of snow that tangles the clouds or 
the mighty bulk of El Capitan. 

In other words, Yosemite Valley might be described 
as being a gorge, a canyon, and a beautiful moun- 
tain valley all in one, enclosed by majestic granite walls, 
bluffs, crags, cliffs, natural spires and domes, rising to 
dazzling heights; waterfalls tumbling down from a height 
of 900 to 3,300 feet — sun-lit forests and pleasant groves; 
rugged-side canyons; beautiful streams; a placid lake; 
green meadows; all the things that nature uses to make 
herself pretty, beautiful, picturesque, magnificent, and 
awe-inspiring; gathered in and around a valley — so small 
as to be an easy walk for an athlete; and yet in this 
closely-concentrated and manifold aggregation of natural 
wonders, the scenic beauties and tremendous magnitudes 
of height and depth are matchless — to the eye and the 
soul of the lover of scenery. 

Every moment en route from El Portal (the entrance) 
the magnitude and wonders of the Valley grow in one’s 
eye — but they are only a taste of that which is in store a 
few miles farther in the Valley where the great panorama 
of marvels crowd closely around you; smiling and frown- 
ing; peaceful and raging; with ripple and murmur, or with 
roar and thunder; here with a riot of color, there with 
cold monotonous gray; here beautiful and idyllic, there 


grand, gigantic and fearsome. All this within actual sight 
and sound, or walking distance, and the mammoth cliffs 
and domes that lure you on, loom up before you at times 
as if within a stone’s throw, and yet so deceitful as to 
lure you miles when you estimated the distance to be only 
a few rods. Forest rangers patrol this governmental re- 
serve, and an annual appropriation of $30,0(>0.00 is made 
for the improvements of the roads and trails. 


HOW REACHED 

Yosemite Valley is now reached by rail the year round. 
The hand of man has made the journey thither an easy 
one, but Nature’s handiwork is unmolested. 

Dame Nature has placed this Valley where all her chil- 
dren can reach it. The main lines of both the Southern 
Pacific and the Santa Fe pass thru Merced — a beautiful 
little California city in the heart of the San Joaquin Val- 
ley, where each of the said lines have two daily trains 
that make connection with the Yosemite Valley R. R. 

The ride of about eighty miles thru the Merced Canyon 
to El Portal (the Yosemite Valley entrance) is replete 
with great scenery, and unmingled with discomfort. At 
the Valley entrance, after a luxurious and most restful 
stop-over at the elegant Hotel Del Portal, you board the 
stage at the hotel door, and a drive of about ten miles 
brings you to the Valley floor — and then to the first day’s 
sight-seeing where God has hung his granite pictures in 
flames of the sky. 

But why multiply words in the attempt at description? 

Go linger near these wonders and love them; for the 
hands of their mighty Maker and Builder have placed and 
preserved them in their virgin ruggedness and matchless 
beauty, and the greatest government in the world invites 
all to come — all to see and enjoy every spot of God’s won- 
derland where admission is as free as the cool, crystal 
waters of the singing Merced that adorns the Valley like 
a thread of silver thru a vale of gold. 


DEDICATION 


THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO 
CALIFORNIA 


The charm of California is recognized across the trav- 
eled world. It is a charm not merely of attraction, but of 
persistence, often of compulsion. He who once comes with- 
in its influence usually returns, and often remains in per- 
manent and willing fascination. 

Climate, that will-o’-the-wisp that has led travelers in 
search of comfort or health a weary chase over many 
lands, comes closest to the ideal in California. Had the 
search of Ponce de Leon been for a climate of perpetual 
health rather than a fountain of eternal youth, success 
would have crowned his efforts could he have persevered 
to western shores. 

The thousand miles of length of California, with the 
sea as one border and the mountains as another, the three 
hundred miles of varying topography between the borders 
— northward, where the State touches the region of the 
pine and flr; southward, where the palm is king — hold 
varieties of climate that are yet of strangely equable tem- 
perature, from the bracing airs of the seacoast, where the 
year finds an average of fifty-six degrees, to the drier airs 
of the inland valleys and the glorious climate of the moun- 
tains. The general average is about sixty-two degrees, 
tho thruout the land may be found occasional touches of 
night frost, merely friendly nips, and at times the ther- 
mometer may reach ninety degrees at Los Angeles and, in 
the great central valley of the Sacramento and San Joa- 
quin rivers, close around the century mark, tho the air is 
dry and the heat tolerable. 


To briefly describe the climate is to announce the three 
hundred days of sunshine that make brilliant every year, 
to say nothing of the wonderful star-set, moonlit nights, 
with every day and night of the year such as to make out- 
door living enjoyable. Here are charms that call one 
westward from the sweltering summer to where cool 
sea breezes play above gentle surf and sandy beach, and 
whisper thru shady boughs above clear watercourses ; 
charms to set one searching for summer clothes for win- 
ter wear in a land where December is known only by the 
calendar and where at Christmas and New Year’s they 
throw roses instead of snowballs and wind up with an 
ocean dip as a cooler. 

This sunny land where every month is June is the home 
of the earth's biggest and oldest trees, and of Yosemite, 
both of which are classed as world-wonders. Since my de- 
parture, it seems that some sweet spirit is calling me back 
among the giant trees, towering cliffs, orange groves, wide 
avenues of magnolias and palms, lanes of pepper trees, 
and poppies that set the hillsides aflame in a riot of color 
— and thereamong, I often visit on the wings of dreams. 
California — the fairyland of romance and pleasant clime, 
the Eden of fruit and blossom, the abode of happy hearts 
and beautiful homes, the domain of peaceful dreams — the 
W’estern world of contrast, with sea-kissed shores, modern 
cities, friendly citizenship, God-built mountains, snow-clad 
peaks, fertile valleys, flower gardens, fruit-clad hills, crys- 
tal rivers, balmy breezes, and cheering sunbeams. 

To be transported in perfect, luxurious comfort from 
the chilling blasts of an eastern winter to California, with 
its masses of bud and flower on every hand, their fra- 
grance mingling with that of the orange blossoms wafted 
upward from ten thousand trees; to look out upon a sea of 
verdure, thru the dark green leaves of which shine the 
golden yellow of ripening fruit; to note the palatial homes 
and dainty cottages, and then from this vernal paradise 
to lift the eyes and behold, only a little way beyond, lofty 
summits shining serenely white with snow, or, perhaps, 
tinged with red and purple in the sunset’s glow, is alto- 
gether such a dream as beggars the wildest flights of imag- 
ination. 


To spend a succession of melodious days in a garden 
rolling out across the valleys, touching the mountain wall 
with fragrant finger-tips and the golden hills against the 
dim blue peaks, is to experience in actual life all the beau- 
ties of a poet’s dream. 

For the lover of the long, unruffled, sunlit swell of the 
Pacific; its white beaches; its shores of keen and varied 
delight; the cool, rich thrill of the surf; the tug and strug- 
gle of fish worth fighting for; a riotous array of fragrant 
blossoms; air with life — life and perfect happiness: Cali- 
fornia to whose sea-kissed shores, sun-kissed soil and pro- 
gressive citizenship the author of this book takes off his 
hat in 

DEDICATION 
to the 

STATE OF THE GOLDEN WEST. 






Photo by Boysen Studio 
Yosemite, Cal. 


OVER-HANGING ROCK 
(3,234 feet above valley floor.) 



This tree is named-“Wawona”— Circumference, 85 feet; height, 260 feet; and is found among the 
368 Sequoias in the Upper Grove. This tree is not the largest, but perhaps the most 
popular in the Upper Grove, and thru a tunnel cut in its trunk, 
the four-horse stages pass with roomy ease. 




Yosemite Valley Romance 


WILLIAM LEE POPHAM 


DESCRIPTION BEING FROM THE AUTHOR’S 
OBSERVATION 


Including, besides Yosemite Valley, description of the California “Big 
Trees”, Long Beach—'The City by the Sea”, and Santa Catalina 
Island— “The Magic Dream-kissed Isle of the Pacific. 


BEING A PERMANENT SOUVENIER AND CONVENIENT 
GUIDE BOOK FOR THE TOURIST. 


PRICE $1.00 


The World Supply Company 
Louisville, Kentucky 


Mayes Printing Company 
Louisville, Ky. 



Copyright 1911 
WILLIAM LEE POPHAM 


CHARACTERS 


MISS DIXIE DARLINGTON 

(A Winsome Tourist of the West) 

CHESTER OAKLAND 

(The Heuidsome Flirt) 

THELMA 
ANNETTA 
EDNA 
ESTELLE 
HAZEL 


Former Sweethearts of Chester Oakland 


BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR 


Poems of Truth, Love and Power. 

Silver Gems in Seas of Gold. 

Nutshells of Truth. 

Love Poems, and the Boyhood of Kentucky’s 
Poet. 

The Village by the Sea. 

A Tramp's Love. 

The Valley of Love. 

She Dared to Win. 

Love's Rainbow Dream. 

SEVEN WONDERS OF THE WORLD 
SERIES (American). 

1. Mammoth Cave Romance. 

2. Niagara Fails Romance. 

3. Garden of the Gods Romance. 

4. Natural Bridge Romance. 

5. Yosemite Valley Romance. 

6. Yellowstone Park Romance. 

7. Washington Monument Romance. 

Distributed by 

THE WORLD SUPPLY COMPANY, 
LOUISVILLE, KY. 



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Yosemite Valley Romance 

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Yosemite Valley Romance 


In romantic California, where the wonderful 
may happen — entering Yosemite Valley, and 
seated in a four-horse stage, were several tour- 
ists — Miss Dixie Darlington in the second seat, 
and Chester Oakland in the seat farthest to the 
rear, — these two being strangers to each other. 
It was the artistic make-up of her back honey- 
colored hair, the beautiful, soft whiteness of 
her perfectly-shaped neck, which ornamented 
the low yoke of a pink dress, that had first en- 
gaged Chester Oakland's more serious 
thoughts. Eying Dixie yet more closely as she 
turned her head, and looked directly back, ob- 
serving the unusual scenery, Chester per- 
ceived besides the heavy coils of artistic hair, 
an erect position, at once graceful and independ- 
ent, her clear gray eyes — soft and penetrating, 
her lips red as a ripened cherry, but much 
sweeter — all these charms at once compel- 
ling his admiration. 

Immediately Chester deplored his ill-luck in 
being in the rear seat, and his thoughts were 
rapid in devising a remedy. Noticing that 


17 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


there was room for one more person in the sec- 
on seat, a part of which Dixie occupied, Chester 
“accidently’’ permitted the 'breeze to sweep his 
hat to the ground, and before the horses had 
quite stopped, he was out and bounding to catch 
his hat. The next moment he came running to 
the stage, hat in hand, and in his haste to 
mount, he “forgot” the seat from which he had 
dismounted, and availed himself of the vacant 
space in the second seat beside Dixie. His face 
assumed a deeper rosiness as he placed his hat 
more firmly upon his head; for every occupant 
had laughed — laughed, he feared, not merely at 
him chasing the hat, but at his “forgetfulness” 
in changing seats. Dixie’s smile showed two 
perfect dimples, and rows of pearly teeth, the 
like of which would be an ornament to any 
mouth. But the next instant, when Dixie ceased 
to smile, the man felt guilty of intrusion, felt 
unwelcome, and that his “made-to-order” acci- 
dent was unsuccessful. 

He sat there, wondering, as many another 
American had wondered before, and many will 
after, why God had made beautiful girls inde- 
pendent — even sometimes independent with 
their superiors— or why He had put the “f or- 


is 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


bidden fruit’’ on the bough, permitting man to 
look at close range, to sit beneath the apple 
tree” and look with ‘‘watering mouth,” daring 
him to taste. 

To relieve his own embarrassment, and, per- 
haps, in his shrewdness, to give Dixie a chance 
to see what kind of a looking chap he really was, 
Chester engaged himself in reading one of the 
“Southern Pacific’s” descriptive pamphlets of 
Yosemite. While he was thus engaged, Dixie 
took advantage of the opportunity to “look him 
over.” As a traveler on many seas and much 
land, and being keen to observe, Dixie suspect- 
ed his intent. But she knew that his endeavor 
was without any surrender of decency, in the 
frank and friendly West, as well as in the South 
— but seldom East of Chicago or North of In- 
dianapolis. 

Beyond that boundary, a self -introduction be- 
tween a lady and a gentleman, is considered by 
some, nothing less than a crime. In glancing at 
Chester — in a most shy manner — Dixie noted a 
high forehead, which inclined her to the belief 
that he had done, or was capable of doing, 
something worth while in the world. She saw 
that his hands were prominent with long 


19 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


fingers; she noted his weight and height — 
guessing the former at one hundred and sev- 
enty-five, the latter at five, eleven and a half; 
hair black, covering a shapely head; eyes dark 
and wonderfully luring, shaded by dark and 
bountiful lashes; nose and mouth prominent, 
full chest and very broad shoulders; complex- 
ion tan, tinted with rose; and that he dressed 
in a clean brown canvas coat and trousers — as- 
suming the air of a young military officer in 
command of some dashing regiment. 

Once he slightly shifted his eye, and thought 
he saw her eyes turned upon him like two 
heavenly moons. He caught his breath at sight 
of her — the sort of woman a man would follow 
around the world, to win. 

While still luring her glance he turned his 
eyes to meet hers — his eyes, penetrating as an 
arrow — hers flashing as sunbeams. 

But when Chester smiled — a smile that almost 
brought her to his bosom — Dixie turned her 
head from him, and tried to direct her attention 
toward a magnificent water-fall in the Valley. 
But the new scene did not monopolize Dixie’s 
thoughts. ^‘He is the handsomest man I ever 
saw,” she thought, ‘‘yea, even beautiful.” 


20 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


Entering the Valley by the El Portal road, 
the eyes are first caught by the Bridal Veil Fall, 
called by the Indians ‘ ‘ Pohono ’ ’ ( Spirit of the 
Evil Wind), which comes over the cliffs on the 
west side of Cathedral Spires. 

The fall is very beautiful and dwarfs ef- 
fectively the highest of European cataracts, not 
merely in volume but in its precipitous sur- 
roundings. The sheer drop of the water, which 
glides over its glacier-worn lip with an outward 
curve, is broken, dropping clear six hundred 
feet and then rushing over a pile of debris to 
fall three hundred more. From most view- 
points the plunge seems sheer. The fall as- 
sumes the aspect of a lacy veil, fastened at top 
and bottom and swayed by the breeze, fluttering 
in an illusion that makes the name appropriate. 
From the cauldron, eddying forth and upward, 
rises a mist, drifting like smoke, and here, at 
the end of the afternoon, the setting sun makes, 
sport of the spray and turns the watery element 
to a semblance of fire with brilliant rainbows 
that span the stream like vivid ribbons, and set 
the wet turf and leaves glowing with iri- 
descence. Broken rainbows quiver down and 
sometimes are met by others wavering up, the? 


91 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


wonderful opalescence of it all making it a 
scene of infinite beauty. In the winter long 
icicles hang about the fall, and ice masses hold 
grottoes roofed with glittering points. 

En route, the consecutive points of interest, 
the descriptions of which follow herewith, seem 
to have extended to Chester, the opportunity 
of drawing from Dixie the desired conversa- 
tion. But while Chester took the pains to point 
out the points of interest (meanwhile glancing 
at a guide book) Dixie only listened and looked. 

Around the shoulder, behind which Bridal 
Veil Creek makes its way to the brink, are 
Cathedral Eocks. They get their name from 
their resemblance to the Duomo at Florence, 
and reach an elevation of 2,660 feet above the 
Valley floor, one spire rising sheer and solitary 
for 700 feet. 

Across the Valley, and nearly opposite the 
Cathedral rocks (or spires) is El Capitan — 
greatest of all granite. El Capitan rises 3,300 
feet with an apparently vertical front, and has 
two faces nearly at right angles with each other. 
It projects into the Valley like a buttress, and 
presents to the vision at a single glance a super- 
ficial area of more than four hundred acres. It 


22 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


is said that the stupendous bulk of El Capitan 
is such that it can be seen from a certain van- 
tage-ground at a distance of about fifty miles. 

Eooted in the granite wall of El Capitan, is a 
growing tree which measures a height of about 
100 feet, but which, to the eye, and as seen from 
the stage, looks like a small bush. Seeing this, 
the beholder soon realizes that the eye cannot 
begin to justly measure the dazzling heights on 
either side of the Valley. 

The Three Brothers are a fraternal group a 
little beyond El Capitan, and their resemblance 
depends upon the point of view. They are 
sometimes called the Three Graces. To the In- 
dians their attitude is said to have suggested 
the heads of frogs sitting up ready to leap. 

The highest one of the three is 3,530 feet, and 
is known from other points as Eagle Peak, 
reached by trail from the Valley. 

Sentinel Eock faces Three Brothers from the 
south wall, and is a splintered granite tower or 
spire, very slender, and for about 1,500 feet be- 
low its apex is nearly perpendicular. The 
whole height above the river at its base is 3,059 
feet. 

At the top-most height of this noble tower of 


23 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


granite is planted a white flag, made by split- 
ting a pillow case, but looking about the size of 
one’s band. 

Proudly the Sentinel Eock stands — as if wav- 
ing its white flag of peace and keeping a care- 
ful watch over the Valley. Doubtless the ‘‘pil- 
low case flag” which unfolds its banner o’er the 
many visitors who seek the Valley’s cool re- 
treat of solitude for rest and dreamy slumber, 
has also covered the pillow for many a reposing 
dreamer of dreams. 

Back of this natural and majestic monument 
stands Sentinel Dome, whose storm-worn top is 
4,142 feet above the Valley. 

Reaching the social center of Yosemite Val- 
ley, the stage unloaded its “human freight” at 
the Sentinel Hotel, on the beautiful brink of 
the Merced river, and in whose clear waters, 
one sitting upon the back varanda of the hotel 
can see great schools of fish swimming lazily 
in their cool retreat. 

At this destination of the first day’s coaching 
in Yosemite, there is almost a town, there being, 
besides the hotel and its annex of six comfort- 
able cottages, the post office, a church, the trans- 


24 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


portation office, a store, barber shop, telegraph 
office and several studios. 

Heaving eaten lunch at the Sentinel Hotel, 
one o’clock in the afternoon found Chester and 
Dixie out walking. For a long time the young 
couple, so newly acquainted, stood on the 
bridge, watching the frolicking of the fishes, 
and admiring the surrounding scenes. 

From the bridge the couple saw the top-most 
height of Glacier Point, 3234 feet above the Val- 
ley fioor, and the eighteen-foot U. S. flag which 
proudly waves upon its stony summit, appears 
to be the size of a lady’s small handkerchief, as 
viewed from the depth below. Learning that to 
appreciate most fully the beauty and awful 
height of the tumbling torrent a different view- 
point must be sought, the couple started to the 
Yosemite Falls, which are directly across the 
Merced river — opposite the Sentinel Hotel. 

Their real grandeur is hardly apparent at 
first sight from the valley, so lacy seems the 
scarf of water that waves in greeting from the 
cliff, altho the stream as it rushes over the lip 
of the first cataract — for there are three divi- 
sions to the fall — is thirty-five feet wide, and 
when the volume is at its greatest the roar of 


25 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


the shattered water can be heard all over the 
valley, reverberating from cliff to cliff and 
sometimes shaking windows a mile away. In 
earlier days, doubtless, it leaped in one great 
plunge from brow to base, twenty-six hundred 
feet of descent, but the cliff face has been 
shaken down so that the first plunge measures 
now but sixteen hundred feet, followed by cas- 
cades for six hundred feet more, and a final 
jump of four hundred feet. From the trail the 
waters seem, as they gleam thru the trees, to 
drop the half-mile in one wild dash, but so vast 
are the cliffs, so towering their height, that the 
vast body of water seems minimized. 

So close the couple went to the falls, that the 
spraying mist, carried by the breeze, kissed 
Dixie’s cheeks — as dew upon pink blossoms — 
touching with rosy tenderness the spot that 
Chester’s lips fain would touch. 

The difficult climb over huge granite boulders 
to the foot of the falls afforded Chester no lit- 
tle pleasure in assisting Dixie, a pleasure that 
was doubtless mutual. Seated upon a mam- 
moth boulder of granite in full view of the 
tumbling volume of water, the couple rested in 
the shadow of the cliffs, amid most romantic en- 
vironment. 


26 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


Chester was thrilled with the Yosemite and 
was fully appreciative of its many advantages 
for making informally the acquaintance of a 
pretty girl. 

Dixie possessed a gentle, friendly eye and yet 
defiant ; she was as modest and yet as haughty, 
as eager and yet as dignified as any other dam- 
sel. But Dixie possessed the charm that could 
draw the handsome Chester Oakland, the gay 
gallant whose attention women sought, out of 
himself. From the moment he caught the soft 
light of her wonderful gray eyes, and the won- 
derful grace of her beautiful manner, he 
straightway forgot every other girl whom he 
had ever known. The transparent, porcelain 
quality of Dixie’s complexion blended with a 
pinkness of pure blood, presented a beautiful 
picture to Chester’s imagination. 

Just how Chester accomplished Dixie’s rec- 
ognition of acquaintance he never knew. But 
at his introduction of self, she smiled — a swift 
flashing smile — that paid a flattering recogni- 
tion of his attention. But to him she had never 
smiled enough ; therein lay all his trouble. 

^‘You’re from the South,” he ventured to 
say, ‘‘I judge, from your given name — the word 


27 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


‘Dixie’ is beautiful, sounds like a poem.” 

“You have another guess,” Dixie replied^ 
and her manner had for the first time the 
brightness that goes with youth, plus the ro- 
mantic cultivation of new acquaintanceship. 

He looked a question at her. 

“I’m a sea-bird,” she informed him, “live in 
a sand-bed by the Pacific.” 

“About the same thing,” he replied, “the 
West and the South are twins; in the heart of 
each is that warmth and hospitality which ex- 
tend a smiling welcome to all the world. ’ ’ 

“But you are a Southerner, aren’t you?” she 
questioned. 

“0 yes,'” he replied proudly, “like a drum, 
my heart beats the tune of Dixie and those old 
Southern melodies — and I think I feel justly 
proud of my nativity.” 

His desire grew to know her occupation. She 
had responded intelligently to his conversation 
regarding the standard fiction; evidently she 
had read much — poetry, fiction, history and 
some science, but she treated books as one wha 
does not write. Tho she spoke with a love and 
understanding of art, and even knew the names 
of the old masters, she showed no sign of being 


28 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


an artist. Of music, they both had about an 
equal knowledge. 

He invaded business, only to hnd her inex- 
perience appalling. The stage — she could name 
the celebrated plays, but her comment did not 
convey a kindred talent. He noticed, however, 
and with great pleasure — as do all refined men 
— that her education did not permit the use of 
slang, such as, crazy about that place, 

etc., etc. 

When they had longer talked of travel, he 
found her knowledge of Europe quite as famil- 
iar as that of America. 

judge you,’’ said he, ‘Ho be a tourist?” 

“Not a professional,” she answered, “it 
would be too much akin to idleness, hut I travel 
some to bring out the poetry in one’s life, you 
know” — and in the next breath she quoted: 


To the dreamer, life is a poem; 
To the poet, life is a dream ; 

To the pretender of airs. 

With his worries and cares. 

It’s a struggle against the stream. 


29 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


The dreamer may have his mission, 

The poet fulfills his forte ; 

But you’ll never find 
The worth-while kind 
An idler nor a sport. 

An instant, Dixie looked at Chester as if ex- 
pecting a comment. 

‘‘Very clever — that poem,” he mused, “I 
like it — and such a place this is for poetry to 
bubble.” 

By this time Chester was saying mentally : 

“I believe she would welcome a romance.” 

“You write, I presume,” she ventured. “Is 
not the unique beauty of Yosemite such as to 
inspire a poem?” 

A boyish embarrassment smote him as he re- 
plied, “I do not write poetry, I only feel it, yet 
when a place like Yosemite is graced with a 
young lady so fair as yourself, I doubt not I 
would readily find the inspiration, were I a 
poet.” 

Dixie laughed, a full, hearty, bubbling laugh 
— a laugh that told the merriment of her very 
soul. It was the first sign that had evidenced 
her susceptibility to compliments. 


30 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


Dixie raised a pair of tender gray eyes, elo- 
quent with expression, and said : 

^ ‘ I do so much love the poetry of sky and dell 
and mountain and sea — and — and — ^romance or 
refined excitement or anything that’s ditferent 
to conventionality. ’ ’ 

Here was his opening. A thousand words 
rushed to his lips, but as quickly fled. Her face 
grew brighter, more beautiful than a flower as 
she waited his next reply. 

^‘You like romance!” he replied, “so do I — 
and romance is ever inviting; I — I — like you — 
I think I could more than like you ; you are dif- 
ferent, pleasingly so, from most girls I meet.” 

His eyes flashed a soft light, yet with a steady 
look of power, but when he looked up, he beheld 
a look of resistance in her face, a look under 
which he almost withered. 

“Mr. Oakland,” replied Dixie, “I fear you 
are what I guessed you were — and I must he 
entirely frank — I feared from the beginning, 
that you were a flirt. ’ ’ 

“Thanks!” he replied hotly, “I appreciate 
your opinion; your confidence quite flatters 
me.” 

“Well, I know, it’s not always pleasant to be 


31 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


frank/’ retorted Dixie, ‘‘but a flirt cannot truly 
love any one girl — but a handsome flirt can 
break the heart of many a true girl whose love 
deserves a mutual response. ’ ’ 

“And,” Dixie added, “I could not, or at least 
would not, permit myself to love you. ’ ’ 

Chester Oakland felt the shamed color stain- 
ing his cheek at the fineness of her perception, 
the delicacy of her withdrawal. It bound him 
to her as no other words could have done. 

“Doesn’t it make any difference to you?” he 
answered slowly and knowing the rash unwis- 
dom of every word as he spoke it, but feeling 
them all drawn irresistibly from him. 

“I mean, whether we go on being friends or 
not?” 

“If not,” he added, “speak the word and I 
shall be enough of a gentleman to respect your 
decision — I am not an intruder.” 

“Of course, it makes a difference,” she re- 
plied, with a woman’s intuition to hold on and 
let go at the same time, — “but you don’t mean 
what you say. ” 

Then she thought: “0, you handsome fel- 
low of brains and charm, I could, I would fol- 


32 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


low you to the world end — if — if you really 
were sincere/’ 

He went on doggedly : 

^^Then there’s no reason why we can’t be 
friends. ’ ’ 

She hesitated. ‘^Can we?” she just mur- 
mured, while her gray eyes, half revealing, half 
questioning, sought his. 

“But we cannot,” she at last said, “we can- 
not.” 

“Then we will not!” he added. 

Small wonder that in that dizzy second, Ches- 
ter was in no pleasant mood. Then a distinct 
sensation shot over him, his heart began to beat 
terrifically, and with a tingling sense of mingled 
defeat and panic. 

“While there is yet time,” he pleaded, “can 
we not agree to cherish this acquaintance, or 
like a tender flower in its new blossom, must it 
wither and die?” 

“Mr. Oakland,” began Dixie, “I fear I shall 
cause you to withdraw your complimentary 
comparison of the West and the South — tho I 
dislike to do so — ^but to be still more frank, I 
think you have broken quite enough trusting 
hearts without seeking another innocent victim ; 


33 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


doubtless you have broken more hearts than 
one and my becoming another victim would 
only flatter your vanity still further.’’ 

‘^You’re a fortune-teller, eh?” he grunted, 
claim no gift of necromancy nor mystic 
power of prophecy,” said she, producing a one- 
page letter — ‘‘What does this mean? I found 
it upon the stage-floor as we dismounted ; guess 
your pocket’s too shallow, Mr. Oakland.” 

His face reddened as he took the letter which 
read: 

“Dear Chester: — ^You are the only man I 
ever loved; the only one I shall ever love. If 
this must be our eternal parting let it be known 
to you that my love is unchangeable. Yet, dear 
Chester, the fault is all my own. I should not 
have permitted my heart to give a love un- 
sought and unwanted; for you did not ask my 
love. Good luck to you, Chester, and good-bye. 

Thelma.” 

Seeing a crimson flush deepen upon his face, 
and fearing an expression of anger, Dixie said 
in a gentle way: 

“It was merely an accident, Mr. Oakland, 
that I found the note, and of course, I didn’t 
34 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


know it was yours till I glanced it over — I’m 
sorry it happened.” 

‘‘No apology is demanded, Miss Darlington,” 
he returned ; “ I only want you to be thoughtful. 
If a man loved you against your will — ^when you 
had not sought his love, had never encouraged 
it, except merely to cultivate a friendly ac- 
quaintance, could you return his affection, es- 
pecially if he were not congenial with your ideal 
of a lover ? ” 

‘ ‘ Certainly, I could not return such a love as 
that,” she answered. 

“Well, that’s precisely the case in this in- 
stance, ’ ’ he added with emphasis. 

“Oh, I could believe your side — even from 
the evidence contained in this letter,” she re- 
plied, ‘ ‘ if this were the only case — but there are 
others with whom you have trifled — there are 
others.” 

This accusation, Dixie considered a venture, 
but she felt a curiosity, yea, a material interest 
to know it all. 

“I have your occupation — your profession 
now,” exclaimed the man, “you are a fortune 
teller. ’ ’ 

This undoubtedly led Dixie to believe the pos- 


35 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


sible truth of her off-hand accusation. 

‘‘Then, you might as well confess,’’ added 
Dixie, “and if you confess, I will think you more 
manly — ^more worthy of my continued friend- 
ship.” 

“I will wait awhile,” Chester responded, 
“and in the meantime. I’ll think it over; we’ll 
discuss this subject more fully at another 
time. ’ ’ 

Then he thought, “if I should confess — if I 
should really relate to her my courtship with 
other girls, would she really think me more 
manly, or would she despise me all the more?” 

Eising from their romantic resting-place, 
Chester and Dixie resumed their walk across 
the Valley — arm in arm. 

The great Valley is a tragedy of the days of 
wild unrest, when Nature’s forces were de- 
structive. Today she is covering the scars of 
the old wounding with verdure. You will be 
struck with the persistence of life. Where gla- 
ciers. plowed the rocky field the tenderest flow- 
ers spring; where awful forces shattered the 
granite walls, are now swarming files of pine, 
fir and balsam. High up in granite cliffs, shrub, 
flower and tree are clinging, content with a 


36 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


handful of soil, as if to live were enough. Life 
marches up the gorges, climbs the precipices, 
camps on the sides of splintered peaks and 
braves the storms in exposed situations, as if 
just to spread soft petal, notched leaf, feathery 
plume or green branch were enough. You will 
miss something in the Valley if over the beauty 
and music of stream and waterfall, you do not 
see the marching files of plant-life conquering 
the granite, covering the nakedness, and hear 
tree, shrub and flower whisper from the heights 
of the rapture of living. It was all ugly once — 
a chaos of rock and denuded gorge. We might 
have wondered, we could not have admired. 
Now all is healed with bloom and beauty — all 
geological terribleness veiled under grass and 
fern, flower and leafy verdancy of the rejoicing 
trees. The whole movement today is toward 
beauty, and you will come away rested, renewed 
and recreated. 

For ages this great chasm, whose birthday 
none can tell, had lain in the heart of the Sierra, 
unknown and unvisited. It was but yesterday, 
when men were feverishly searching these west- 
ern mountains for gold, that Nature gave to the 
world this other treasure, beautiful beyond the 


37 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


dreams of men, wMch all may share and none be 
poorer for the sharing. 

Ere returning to the hotel, the couple visited 
Camp Curry, the finest and most popular camp 
in Yosemite — and in the very center of the lead- 
ing points of greater interest. 

Standing at the front door of Sentinel Hotel, 
(the only hotel on the Valley floor), you gaze 
upward at the heights of Sentinel Eock. To 
the east is the wonderful, massive pile of 
granite forming Half Dome, which towers 5,000 
feet into the clouds. 

When the shadows of the great cliffs deep- 
ened across the Valley, Chester and Dixie re- 
turned to the hotel for dinner; and twilight 
found them sitting contentedly together on the 
upper veranda over-looking the river. 

But soon the time came to retire. On the 
morrow they would take the stage at seven 
o’clock — and their rambles had prepared them 
not only with splendid appetites, but for a night 
of sweet repose. 


38 


CHAPTEE II. 


Leaving the Sentinel Hotel in the early crisp 
of the morning, while yet the dew clung in dia- 
mond-brilliants to the sweet faces of the flow- 
ers, Chester and Dixie took the stage en route 
to Glacier Point. 

En route, the couple were enchanted with 
their view of Mirror Lake, which reflects beau- 
tiful pictures of the sun-lit heavens and the tow- 
ering cliffs and domes that border the Valley. 
Like a great painting from the touch of a mas- 
ter artist, this lake portrays the granite faces 
of the Valley’s natural and permanent habita- 
tion, and being a perfect mirror of the varying 
scenery, it is a beautiful lake, appropriately 
named. 

The Nature-lover’s eye may rove over the 
glorious riot of color and the splendor and 
majesty of form, the while his ear is charmed 
and his whole being thrilled as Nature plays for 
him her wondrous scale of harmony from tink- 
ling rivulet to thunderous waterfall. 

Yosemite is pre-eminently a region of con- 
trasts. Yonder, an inaccessible ice-clad peak 
piercing the sky, and at our feet, a pleasant. 


39 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


verdant meadow, where cattle graze contentedly 
and lazy trout lie luxuriously in quiet pools as 
the placid river ripples thru the gently sway- 
ing rushes. But nowhere in the Valley is this 
swift transition from awe and majesty to peace 
and calm, more vividly impressed upon the vis- 
itor than on the trip to Mirror Lake. A short 
and easy ramble by the meadows, thru the 
woods and along a road covered deeply with 
pine-needles, whose balsam fills the air, brings 
you to the rim of this liquid looking-glass. No 
zephyr breaks upon its placid depths, no sound 
disturbs the stillness of the air. Like a cup of 
molten silver it lies in the heart of the moun- 
tains, and as you gaze and gaze again into this 
crystal lake the foliage that lines its shore, the 
dark pines beyond and the giant outline of Mt. 
Watkins towering in the blue distance, are pic- 
tured on its silver surface with a fidelity that 
makes you hesitate to say where ends reality 
and where begins similitude. 

Farther along, en route, a splendid view is 
had of Vernal Falls — a scene of glorious beau- 
ty-leaping amid sunbeams and shadows three 
hundred and fifty feet to the granite floor of the 
dark canyon. At its maximum fullness, the 


40 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


river is nearly eighty feet wide; its spray is 
driven outward like smoke, and everything of 
plant and grass, moss and fern, is kept vividly 
green by the incessant baptism. 

A little beyond — less than a mile — is Nevada 
Falls, where the same stream plunges down- 
ward 600 feet. The descent is not sheer. The 
great snowy torrent glances from sloping rock 
about midway just enough to make a compound 
curve. 

The setting of the fall is impressive — Great 
Liberty Cap, a granite pile rising more than 
2,000 feet above the pool, at its base, with Mount 
Broderick just back of it and the Half Dome 
near at hand. 

Beaching the Glacier Point hotel in time for 
lunch, Chester and Dixie spent the whole after- 
noon in that region, which is one of the most 
popular objective points in the whole domain. 
Glacier Point is especially remarkable for its 
commanding position, its great vertical height 
and the unspeakable sublimity of the view from 
its projecting rocks. 

The over-hanging rock which marks the Point 
is but a few yards from the hotel. It is exactly 
3,324 feet from the top of the jutting rock down 


41 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


to the floor of the Valley, and a pebble dropped 
from this point will touch nothing until it 
strikes the talus, 3,000 feet straight down. The 
hotel in the Valley is dwarfed to a hut, stately 
trees are mere shrubs, and men seem dots on 
the Valley floor. 

Much of the northern rim of the Valley lies 
before you on the same level upon which you 
stand, with a background of higher mountains. 
From Placier Point the view takes in all the 
immediate peaks and many of the higher sum- 
mits of the Sierra. The scene is sublime. Sharp 
brinks and precipices plunge into Yosemite on 
one side, into the dark gorge of Illilouette on 
the other. The Half Dome soars ethereal amid 
clouds. The whole northern base of the valley 
swims in pure light, the creamy cliff of El Capi- 
tan, Yosemite Falls, the Eoyal Arches and the 
North Dome. Up Tenaya Canyon, Mirror Lake 
flashes like a facet of a diamond, and the dis- 
tances blend into blue voids above which towers 
the naked structure of Cloud’s Best. Vernal 
and Nevada Falls gleam from Merced Canyon 
with Liberty Cap behind. The snowy-peak of 
the Obelisk obscures many of the more distant 
summits, but a great portion of the snow>^ 


42 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


range, Mounts Starr-King, Hoffman, Lyell, 
Clark, Dana and the Merced group, covered 
with everlasting snows, upmounting thirteen 
thousand feet, seem to swim in ths azure- 
mountains, mystic, delectable; in their ame- 
thyst, their pearl and amber hues. 

Sentinel Dome tops Glacier Point by nearly 
a thousand feet, and can be climbed without dif- 
ficulty. It lies about a mile and a half south- 
ward. From its summit the San Joaquin Val- 
ley and the Coast Eange, nearly one hundred 
miles away, are to be distinctly seen. The south 
wall may be traversed along the Pohono trail 
and one notable feature is formed by the Fis- 
sures, clefts in the rock that reach down hun- 
dreds of feet, one being only four feet across. 
It is an experience to gaze into the abyss, a de- 
cided thrill, not to be lightly forgotten. 

The exceptional beauty of the panoramic view 
from the awe-inspiring height of Glacier Point 
affords as great inspiration to poet and painter 
as any spot found elsewhere in picturesque 
America. As I looked upon the granite forms 
of the frowning crags which border the Valley 
on either side, and the various ranges of impos- 
ing mountains in the distance, then down upon 


43 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


the swiftly flowing waters of the Merced river, 
here resembling a running pool, there broken by 
surging rapids, and then upon the green carpet 
of the Valley floor dotted with trees which 
seem but swaying branches, and then to rest the 
eye upon the world-famed water-falls, as I 
looked upon all this panorama of unique won- 
der, I felt an inspiration, which, if it were pos- 
sible to express, might throw a perfume on the 
violet, or add another hue to the rainbow. 

When Yosemite was in the forest primeval 
and heard only the music of its own cataracts, 
it was a wild flower garden of many varieties, 
but the need of pasturage and the trampling of 
many feet have obliterated the delicate beauty 
which once was all the more striking by contrast 
with the towering rock walls which shut in the 
garden. But the Park is still a-bloom, and an 
excursion beyond the rim of the Valley, and 
away from the frequented paths will reward the 
flower lover with azaleas, wild roses, gilias, 
phloxes, lupines, potentillas, daisies, harebells, 
iris, the brodiaea and especially the calochortus, 
or Mariposa tulip, finer than any ever seen in 
Europe. 

Chester and Dixie remained at Glacier Point 


44 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


Hotel over night to view the gorgeous sun-set 
and the crimson rosiness of the afterglow when 
the whole landscape is one heavenly shadow be- 
yond power to describe — and also to see the sun 
rise from behind the granite hills and ragged, 
sky-piercing peaks where the sunbeams wake 
the shadows and kiss them into light. 

Sitting near the very summit of the over- 
hanging Eock at Glacier Point — a dazzling 
height of over 3,000 feet above the Valley floor, 
Chester and Dixie engaged in a further discus- 
sion of the subject of their former conversation. 

About the confession of your ‘affairs of the 
heart, ’ with the other girls, ^ ’ reminded Dixie, as 
if she really knew that there were other girls 
whom Chester had wooed and won — but whom 
he had disappointed — “you choose,^’ she add- 
ed, “to be both frank and honest, I believe, and 
thus believing, am now prepared to listen to 
your confession.’’ 

The commanding power in her eyes led him 
on — led him as if she possessed the power of 
compulsion. 

“Then you will be fair in your hearing, won’t 
you?” he began. “You will not be led to hate 
me because I have not been an angel — because I 


45 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


have been imprudent — ^because I have bad for- 
mer sweethearts (if we so term them,) and 
have failed to find in them the ideal to which I 
aspire in womanhood — ^you won’t hate me for it, 
will youT’ 

^‘Oh, I could never hate you,” replied Dixie, 
‘‘I should dislike to be guilty of ‘hating’ any 
one — ^yet I make no promise, except that if you 
are really frank and honest, I will be more con- 
siderate of your feelings and friendship.” 

Thus speaking, Dixie thought that her suc- 
cess in securing a confession was rather pleas- 
ing; she considered what he had already made, 
as a great start, yea, a part of his confession. 

“Well, if you want frankness and honesty in 
the relating of my story, you’ll certainly get 
it,” he replied, “but know you in advance, that 
you are the only woman in the world whom I 
would gratify to this extent — and I say it be- 
cause you — because I — because you are so dif- 
ferent from any other of the fair sex whom I 
have ever met. ’ ’ 

“Thank you,” encouraged Dixie, “I really 
do thank you. ’ ’ 

“You judged me rightly,” began Chester, “I 
am — or I mean I have been — a flirt, not alto- 


46 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


gether intentionally, not I hope, a mean one at 
heart — but I have been a flirt. Of course I have 
had former sweethearts — ^who hasn^t? My 
weakness has been to enjoy the admiration, yea, 
the aifection, of pretty women — of course, wo- 
men of unquestionable character, but women 
whom I had never considered in the light of 
matrimony. Ere this, I have realized my mis- 
take — a mistake which has troubled me no lit- 
tle. Luckily, I used to think — ^but very unluck- 
ily I have since realized — I found myself popu- 
lar with young ladies — popular in society — the 
devil’s earthly hell; if you will kindly pardon 
the term — found myself welcome at their social 
functions, in fact, really much sought after on 
these occasions. Naturally, that is, naturally 
for a flirt, I wooed the fairest among them, I 
seemed to enjoy the bestowal of their affection 
upon me — ^their devotion seemed to satisfy my 
heart’s hungering. That I — to use almost a vul- 
gar term — made love to the fairest of them, I 
do not deny, and that I was flckle I deny less. 
I do not claim ever to have been a wingless an- 
gel, still I knew there was a limit, a boundary- 
line between decency and degradation, and I 
never over-stepped it — that is, while I was sober 


47 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


— but I can’t say what happened when the wine 
glass came around too often. Just here my 
confession is necessarily a dim one — an uncer- 
tainty, hence imperfect, incomplete. 

^‘However, I am frank to confess to having 
disappointed — I suppose you will so call it — 
five young ladies, or rather girls. That is to 
say, I disappointed them by my failure to pro- 
pose marriage. Understand me, please, I have 
never gotten so low as to engage myself to any 
woman and afterwards refuse to marry her. To 
make good my promise of honest frankness, I’ll 
call the five names — that is their given names — 
for, I take it, it would be very ungentlemanly 
in me and unjust to them, to give you their full 
names; no, I wouldn’t be so ungentlemanly as 
that. Besides Thelma, whose letter you found, 
and the tone of which bears out my statement, I 
have wooed Annetta,— Edna,— Estelle,— and 
Hazel, — have disappointed them all, inasmuch 
as I never proposed marriage to them. But hear 
me this : In the light of my experience as a flirt, 
and fully realizing the folly of same, I had 
promised myself and my God— and I hereby 
promise you— that I will never woo another girl 
or woman whom I consider uncongenial^ or 


48 


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whose love I would not try to mutually return. 
In short, I will no longer be a flirt, but will be 
a real man.*^ 

Saying this, Chester looked up at Dixie, 
whose smile was like a sunbeam on the face of a 
crimson lily. 

‘‘We’ll shake hands on that manly confession, 
and that earnest promise,” said Dixie, as she 
extended her fair hand. 

He held her hand a second — their eyes met, 
and the eyes of both were moist. 

“Now, do you dislike me all the more?” he 
asked in a pleading tone. 

“You are — or you were, as I at first feared — 
a flirt,” she replied, “but you are more gallant, 
more honorable than most flirts whom I have 
met.” 

“But,” she continued, “it’s a serious wrong 
to be a willful flirt; it’s a low, cowardly, ungal- 
lant man, and a mean one, who trifles with ten- 
der hearts, and who would recklessly make and 
break an engagement of marriage. I could not 
love a flirt; yea, could not respect such a char- 
acter. Doubtless you have committed a sin in 
your disregard for others, and in the selfish 
gratification of self and your weak vanity. You 


49 


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ROMANCE 


have treated too lightly the affection of ten- 
der, and perhaps sincere, hearts. Yet, by close 
observation, I know that too often girls love un- 
wisely, too often they give a love unsought and 
unwanted by the one whom they would win. 
Herein lies the secret of so many broken hearts 
and blasted lives ; for always where mutual love 
is lacking, the lover ’s way is against the stream. 
Too many love and are unloved; too many try 
to sweep back the ocean wave — attempt the im- 
possible. I am persuaded that you are honest, 
that you are a better man than you used to be. 
If I didn’t think so, I could not flee from your 
presence too quickly nor too swiftly. Now, Mr. 
Oakland, if you desire that I shall continue my 
confidence in you, if you really want my friend- 
ship, want me to believe that you have given 
an honest confession, you will be obliged to per- 
form a task which is far from being either an 
easy or a pleasant one. ’ ’ 

would do anything — be the task easy or 
hard, bitter or sweet— anything for you,” he 
replied. 

''Thank you, Mr. Oakland.” 

He took her hand in his— "Just name the task 
you wish.” 


50 


YOSEMITE 


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ROMANCE 


Don’t hold my hand yet, please,” she re- 
plied, withdrawing it from his pressure, ^‘yonr 
task is this: Go see Thelma, Annetta, Edna, 
Estelle and Hazel — beg their forgiveness of 
your encouragement of their affection, confess 
your flirtation to each, and help them, if pos- 
sible, to marry some man who can return their 
love.” 

‘‘Do you ask me to sweep back the ‘ocean 
wave’?” he asked. 

“I might,” he added, do, yea, I could and 
would do, everything you ask except the latter 
— but how could I help them to marry other 
men?” 

‘ ‘ Quite easy, ’ ’ was her reply. 

“Then I will listen with great pleasure,” he 
replied, “to your ‘easy plan’.” 

“Not yet,” she responded, “later I will tell 
you how — and while the unique plan is unheard 
of, I guarantee it to work quite nicely. I want 
each of those disappointed girls to win a true 
man — one whom they love and one who will 
truly love them. ’ ’ 

“Then I’ll wait,” he promised, “and do what 
you say, partly for their sake, partly for hon- 
or’s sake, but mostly for your sake.” 


51 


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Thank you, Mr. Oakland, you are obliging,’^ 

Then the couple paused to behold the wonder- 
ful scenes about them. 

The charms and pleasures of Yosemite grow 
upon you with each succeeding visit, and there 
are many who, by reason of this subtle attrac- 
tion, have come, almost unconsciously, to ac- 
quire what might he termed the Yosemite habit. 
Year by year when the outdoor longing seizes 
them, they throw otf the thrall of city life, leave 
behind them the burden of business, and turning 
their footsteps to the Sierra fastnesses which 
ever guard this Golden State, answer gladly to 
the call of the wild. Here, fishing, tramping, 
riding, wandering care free along the floor of 
the Valley, or scaling rugged scarp and crag, 
resting peacefully at night under the stars, 
muscles grow firm and nerve steady, while 
hearts beat in healthful unison with deep-drawn 
breaths of purest air, and life is once again the 
joy that it is meant to be. 

The mountain climber goes to stretch his 
muscles and test his hand and eye upon the 
rougher trails ; the fisherman to tempt the trout 
in the long stretches of the lower river or in the 
swirling rapids and cascades above; the bota- 


52 


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nist finds a hundred specimens of the mountain 
fiora to enrich and beautify his store ; the geolo- 
gist may journey there from year to year and 
still make new discoveries ; the landscape artist 
finds perpetual inspiration for his brush; and 
the writer feels anew the impotence of words, in 
poem or in prose, to tell aright the story of 
Yosemite. 

Yosemite can be visited all the year round,, 
and each season has its own special delights and 
advantages. In the spring the melting snow 
turns the streams which feed the waterfalls into 
torrents and the down-rushing water is in full 
volume ; on every side are rivulets, leaping cas- 
cades and reverberating waterfalls ; in the sum- 
mer the highest trails are accessible, the 
weather is delightful and the whole atmosphere 
has a mellow, golden quality that at once rests; 
and invigorates; in the autumn the air is clear,, 
every outline and wonderful profile of rock and 
crag, of giant column and massive dome, stands 
out as tho etched against the sky, the leaves are 
gently fading thru a myriad shades of green and 
red and bronze — it is the artist’s paradise of 
color; and in winter, with the Valley floor hid- 
den beneath a snowy cover, with red snow 


53 


YOSEMITE 


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ROMANCE 


plants thrusting their way thru the cold earth, 
like tongues of flame, with every tree and plant 
drooping gracefully under its wintry burden, 
with marvelous icicles, like great stalactites, 
hanging from tower and pinnacle and over-arch- 
ing rocks — who shall say which is the best time 
to visit the wondrous garden of the Sierra f 


54 


CHAPTR III. 


Leaving the Glacier Point Hotel at 2 o’clock 
in the afternoon, Chester and Dixie reached the 
Wawona hotel at 6 o’clock — a four-hour pleas- 
ant drive up and down hills and mountains, thru 
sweet-smelling forests of wild flowers, and oc- 
casionally passing a deer near the road-side. 

After an excellent dinner which proved equal 
to their increasing appetites, a restful night, 
and a delicious breakfast at the Wawona hotel, 
Chester and Dixie, with other tourists, took the 
nine o’clock stage en route to the Mariposa 
Grove of Big Trees — twenty-six miles from the 
Valley, but still in the boundary of the National 
Park — and a three-hour drive beyond the Wa- 
wona hotel. These world-famed forest giants 
are in Mariposa county, (Cal.) and are known 
as the Sequoia gigantea — being larger than the 
redwood or sequoia sempervirens. 

The bark of The Big Trees is fibrous in tex- 
ture and so soft that one can feel it give under 
a hard pressure of the finger. It ranges from 
10 to 26 inches in thickness and is the color of 
cinnamon. 

The Maripjosa forest (so named because lo- 
cated in Mariposa county) is divided into two 


55 


YOSEMITE 


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groves, namely: ^Hhe upper and the lower 
grove,’’ and was first discovered (in 1857) by 
that grand old gentleman and beloved author, 
Galen Clark, who lived close to Nature in the 
Sierras and Valley which he loved so well, and 
whose pen never wrote a lie in relating their 
beauty and charm. 

The area of land containing ‘^The Big Trees” 
contains 2,589.26 acres, and was ceded to the 
United States in 1905 by the State of California. 

Standing under the shadows of their gigantic 
arms, I heard the breeze whisper in vain to the 
aged giants, for they were silent; I heard the 
wind strive to sway their bodies, hut they were 
immovable. 

Endowed with vigor and vitality, with lungs 
which inhale the mountain air, and feet which 
reach into the bowels of the earth for suste- 
nance, and skin whose pores drink in the thirst- 
quenching rain and dew, these ‘‘Big Trees” — 
the largest and oldest living things in the world 
— seem almost human, almost endowed with a 
heart if not a soul. Before the morning stars 
sang together, or ere the shepherds paused at 
the manger-bed in the sublime presence of the 
only begotten Son of their Creator, these grand- 


56 


YOSEMITE 


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est of all living antiquities of the forest, lifted 
their cloud-kissed heads into the heavens; and 
could they speak, the oldest of them could relate 
8,000 years of history. 

Having brought their lunch to the grove of 
the ‘‘Big Trees Chester and Dixie were in no 
hurry to return to the hotel. 

Having walked amid the groves and around 
several of the aged giants of the forest and at 
last, standing together and alone in the tunnel 
of the tree named Wawona, and thru which the 
stage had carried them a few hours before, 
Chester and Dixie felt a growing enthusiasm, 
while the Yosemite region seemed to grow 
more and more favorable to romance between 
them. While they were exchanging smiles and 
yet conversing in the tunnel of this proud tree 
which had sheltered lovers of many a century, 
even a lonely little bird not far away, seemed to 
sing for the couple’s pleasure and benefit. 
About them, intoxicatingly sweet, smelt the 
quaint perfume of the pines, and the earth ex- 
haled pleasantly soft and fragrant odors. 

“Dixie,” began Chester, the first time he had 
addressed her in such a familiar manner, “I 
think I could live happily here forever, with 
you — ^just you and I.” 


57 


YOSEMITE 


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Her face shone in colors fairer than the rain- 
bow, but Dixie made no reply. Dixie was not 
so absurd as to think anything might come of 
this, at once. The handsome chap and erstwhile 
flirt must first atone for his previous folly, must 
right some grievous wrongs, must learn some- 
thing of God’s law about the sowing and reap- 
ing of harvest, and must prove himself abso- 
lutely earnest and true. 

Everything was remote; yet undeniably on 
the horizon of what had been a black night, there 
were the faint flickerings of new fires. What 
made Dixie happy now was the knowledge that 
she had beauty enough, heart enough, to draw 
to herself admiration and affection which was 
innocent, unsophisticated, unselfish; that there 
was for her, here in the forest, a clear fountain 
flowing. The unaffected hope of romance, the 
untroubled happiness of her girlhood seemed to 
shimmer into existence. 

Dixie’s honey-colored hair fell in heavy small 
curls about her fair brow, and the flush in her 
crimson cheeks, the brilliant smile which, to 
Chester, came only too seldom— but to him, al- 
ways beautiful, the lithesome grace of her move- 
ments brought a sparkle into the eyes of the 


58 


YOSEMITE 


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ROMANCE 


warm-blooded man whose love she had surely 
won from the beginning. Tho infatuated by 
Chester’s charms, and his willingness to atone 
for past error, Dixie had not become demon- 
strative. Yet more than once at Chester’s at- 
tempts to draw her out, Dixie felt a flame burn 
in her cheeks — a consuming flame of desire, yea, 
of love. He looked down into the eyes of the 
girl, his look speaking more eloquently than 
words, and the blushes danced in Dixie ’s cheeks 
like the petals of creamy roses. Without turn- 
ing her head, Dixie could see his profile. 

The tunnel walls of the tree guarded them 
from the observation of others, and near them 
was neither vehicle nor foot passenger. For a 
while Chester remained unmoved in the storm of 
emotions which had come over him. Then he 
reached for Dixie’s trembling hands which gave 
themselves to his touch. While yet holding her 
hand Chester murmured : 

‘‘Dixie, I love you so much that life without 
you would be a miserable existence. I love you 
so much that without you, even this forest of 
giant trees and the dear Valley of Yosemite 
would seem dreary and monotonous. I don’t 
want ever to go away from you. I want us to 


59 


YOSEMITE 


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be together forever, and to throw my arms 
about you, to drive away all your clouds, and to 
kiss away your tears. Since knowing you I feel 
that this is the only way that I shall ever know 
happiness — or peace. Since first I heard your 
voice, since first you smiled upon me, I wake in 
the morning with your name on my lips and I 
wander thru the day with your image in my 
heart. If I try to read, you come between me 
and the page. If I try to think, you come be- 
tween my thoughts — ^yea, my thoughts are of 
you. You are my books, music — ^my — my — 
everything, I go to bed early at night often so 
that I can lie in the dusk and think of you. And, 
oh, the only nights that rest me are those filled 
with dreams of the poem we would make out of 
life — if — if 

Ere finishing his sentence, he looked into 
Dixie ’s face, and her look defied him. 

‘‘Wait!’^ she demanded. ‘‘A great deal must 
be done before I can listen to you — like that.’^ 

Her head was tilted high, and there was a 
determined look about the angle of her chin. 

A breeze swept her honey-colored hair, which 
had taken on a touch of sunset-gold. 

''But when can this 'something' be done?" 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


asked Chester, ‘‘when will you tell me your 
plan?’’ 

“When we leave Yosemite,” she answered, 
“you will accompany me to my sea-side home — 
and there I will make known to you the plan.” 

When Dixie had again smiled upon him, Ches- 
ter quite forgot his anxiety — and they both wei e 
again conscious of the marvelous beauty and 
immensity of the “Big Trees” about them. 

Mariposa Grove, in the Yosemite National 
Park, is almost invariably visited in conjunc- 
tion with the Valley trip. 

There are 259 Sequoias in the Lower Grove, 
and 352 in the Upper Grove. The finest tree is 
the ‘ ‘ Mariposa, ’ ’ 100 feet in circumference, and 
275 in height, it being named for the county in 
which the “Big Trees’ stand. 

While the Mariposa is the finest, it is not the 
largest in the Upper Grove. 

The Hartford, circumference 120 feet, and 
height 280 feet, is hollow at the base, and has 
sheltered in its cavity, sixteen persons on horse- 
back. 

In the Lower Grove, standing in its time- 
worn and rugged appearance, which is suggest- 
ive of its name, is the Grizzly Giant — the oldest 


61 


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and biggest tree in the world. This Seqnoia is 
still living, and is said to be nine feet out of 
plumb. Its estimated age is 8,000 years, circum- 
ference 104 feet at the base, height 224 feet, 
first limb 100 feet from the ground, and 20% 
feet in circumference — and the tree is estimated 
to contain 1,000,000 feet of lumber. 

These figures and measurements, as well as 
all others in this volume, are according to the 
United States Geological Survey (as I under- 
stand it). 

In the Upper Grove there is a quaint low- 
roofed cabin, one room of which is used as a 
curio store, where many odd, beautiful and use- 
ful things, which are made from the knots and 
other portions of the ‘‘Big Trees,’’ are sold. 
Almost invariably in the different groves, the 
Sequoias seem to have naturally arranged 
themselves into family groups and social clus- 
ters, some being only a few feet apart. 

The Sequoias remain green the year round, 
and even with their scaly, thick, rough bark, 
they are unequaled, not only in size, but also in 
majestic grace and beauty. Some of the Se- 
quoias have been greatly damaged by ancient 
forest fires, and while bearing the black scars, 


62 


YOSEMITE 


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they still live to beautify the favorite spot 
which Dame Nature chose for their home. 

At first you will find their great size very de- 
ceitful if you try to measure them by the eye; 
but see a large four-horse stage driven thru 
the ^‘Wawona^^ place several men at their base, 
walk around their trunk, or measure their cir- 
cumference with a spool of thread or a ball of 
twine, and you will begin to realize the im- 
mensity of their unequaled measurements. 

Even now, when you shall have read this 
chapter, take a spool of thread, get a friend to 
hold the spool while you unwind it walking 
a distance of 104 feet, and you will have the cir- 
cumference of the Grizzly Giant in a compre- 
hensive demonstration. 

It is said that when Galen Clark, who was for 
many years guardian of Yosemite, first knew 
the Upper Grove, there was exactly one big tree 
for every day in the year. Three of them have 
fallen since then. Here is the old log cabin of 
the keeper, a good sized dwelling dwarfed to a 
Peter Pan house, measured by the big trees 
about it. The Lower Grove is a mile away, the 
original grant covering the trees being about 
four miles square. The tallest tree, three hun- 


63 


YOSEMITE 


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ROMANCE 


dred and twenty-five feet, is named ‘‘Colum- 
bia.’’ Most of the trees, as in the other well- 
known groves, have been named for presidents, 
generals and distinguished men and places, 
leading often to duplication of titles. On the 
“Fallen Monarch” a six-horse coach with six- 
teen passengers has been driven with ease. 
Roughly, it is said to weigh, as it lies, about 
three million pounds, with fifty thousand cubic 
feet of lumber in it, or enough to supply twenty- 
four miles of board fence six feet high. It is 
partly buried in six feet of soil accumulated 
since its fall hundreds of years ago, but its 
wood is sound, for the heart of a Sequoia seems 
beyond decay. The gnarled roots of this tree 
seem incapable of having supported it, and it 
is a matter of surprise that these trees, as 
might a Corinthian solumn, seem to hold their 
firm stand by their perfect poise and symmetry 
rather than by any great foundation. Their 
roots are never deep nor of much radiation. 

An interesting tree is the “Telescope,” its 
two hundred feet tunneled by ancient fires, yet 
still living. One can almost see the stars at 
noonday thru the tube, and to watch some great 


64 


YOSEMITE 


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ROMANCE 


planet eye blazing down after nightful is a 
unique experience. 

The Big Trees are worth traveling across the 
continent to see, and form a very conspicuous 
part of the visit to Yosemite Valley; for these 
trees, as well as the Valley, are and have long 
been listed in the leading encyclopedias, as one 
of the wonders of the world. 


65 


YOSEMITE 


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ROMANCE 


Beneath the Giant Trees. 

I traveled the Sierras for the joy that it brings 
To the lover of mountain and dell ; 

And stored in my heart are the memories dear, 
And the scenes, too many to tell. 

Beneath the grand trees that kiss the clouds 
These towers of Nature sublime — 

I stood enchanted, enthused, and inspired 
Beholding the monarchs of Time. 

Old as the ages ! and still they ’re alive. 

Defying Time ’s tempest and gale ; 

These are the great masterpieces of Him 
Who gave to earth forest and vale. 

Ages ago, God kissed them to life 
With sunbeams, the rain and the dew, 

And the long ages since. He has watched over all 
While into great giants they grew. 

And now His noble monuments. 

These oldest, living things — 

Stand sentinels of earth and sky. 

Erect, grand forest kings 1 
Eegretting much to leave these spires. 

Which pierce the heavenly air, 

I turned at last a backward look 
And breathed a word of prayer. 

66 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


Eeturning at four o’clock in the afternoon, 
Chester and Dixie found and enjoyed many 
points of interest en route from the Wawona 
Hotel — at which place they spent another pleas- 
ant evening, and left the following morning at 
seven o ’clock for El Portal, the entrance to and 
exit from Yosemite Valley, and the terminal of 
the Yosemite Valley E. E. 

En route, the stage halted briefly at Inspira- 
tion Point, 1,200 feet above the Valley floor, and 
from which place a splendid panoramic view of 
the Valley is had. 

Farther along. Artist Point furnished a beau- 
tiful view — such as inspires the painter’s 
brush. Still farther on after leaving the Val- 
ley floor and to the right of the road, the driver 
calls attention to the perfect profile of a cat on 
a cliff -wall, which profile requires no stretching 
of the imagination to distinguish clearly the 
natural image. 

A little farther, and to the left of the road, is 
a noble granite cliff called Elephant Eock, so 
named because of its perfect resemblance to 
this large quadruped. 


67 


CHAPTER IV. 


Having completed their never-to-be-forgotten 
visit to Yosemite Valley and The Big Trees, 
Chester and Dixie decided to rest a day or so at 
the inviting Hotel Del Portal, and all visitors 
should take time to do likewise, for here at this 
mountain inn, so beautifully set in its unique 
surroundings of Dame Nature, is a lover ^s par- 
adise, a poet’s dream-palace and, to the weary 
tourist, a ‘‘cozy corner,” where he may enjoy 
“all the comforts of home.” 

Deep in the heart of nearly all of us is a 
primal impulse to get away from the town and 
close to Nature every little once in a while. Boy 
and girl, young man and maiden, elder folk in 
the whirl and bustle of Life’s demands, the old- 
er yet who are looking for quiet havens — all in- 
stinctively love the places that are called wild, 
tho in their very wildness lies their charm, their 
soothing anodyne that heals, refreshes and in- 
vigorates as we get closer to the ways of our 
forefathers. 

Here is an inn where Nature smiles in thru 
the windows, breathes thru the open doors, 
waiting smilingly to take you into her confi- 
dence and tell you, in the murmur of the river. 


68 


YOSEMITE 


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ROMANCE 


in the rustling of the trees, a thousand secrets 
that will make you better satisfied with life. 

To lounge on wide verandas where pools of 
golden sunshine and dusky shadow alternate ; to 
feel the mountain zephyr, redolent with the 
spicery of the pines ; to see the cascading river 
sparkling not so far below but that its hurrying 
murmur mingles with the song Aeolus whispers 
to the trees ; — does not this conjure up a vision 
of a place in which to rest, to play awhile at 
will, but a place of peace, a haven from the 
turmoil of everyday life, a place of inspiration, 
where the spirit of youth walks hand in hand 
with the spirit of love and where romance grows 
beneath favorable skies? 

It seemed that everywhere the wilderness 
beautiful, beckoned this congenial couple of ro- 
mantic hearts, and could the rocks break their 
golden silence, their secrets of wooing might be 
told, but it were better to leave heaven alone to 
know what words of love and tender devotion 
must have been whispered between Chester and 
Dixie in this mountain solitude. 

Here, in this beautiful canyon beloved of the 
Indians before the paleface came, where later 
gold-seekers found their glittering fortunes on 


69 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


the sandbars of the Merced ; replacing the rude 
cabin of the miner and the Indian’s tepee, now 
stands amid romantic setting the luxuriant 
lodge of the white man. 

The Indian hunter poising his spear above 
the bubbling current is gone, tho yet a remnant 
of the tribes winter in the sheltered V alley ; but 
the trout are yet more abundant, for the white 
hunter restocks the river every year. The boot- 
ed miner no longer rocks his cradle or spills his 
pan upon the banks of the canyon where now 
the locomotive shrills an echo from the hills, 
but the wild things of covert and forest are still 
plentiful and sing and frisk or swiftly gallop 
thru ferns and flowers, by chaparral and chin- 
quapin, beneath the boscage, as they have ever 
since Mother Nature mantled the glacier- 
ground, frost-riven walls and floor of Yosemite 
with verdure. 

Having spent two restful, eventful days at 
the Hotel Del Portal, Chester and Dixie board- 
ed the Yosemite Valley train at El Portal en 
route to Merced. 

The railroad passes thru the deep canyon of 
the Merced — the river, placid where the stream 
is wide and deep, then a raging torrent dashing 


70 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


over the rocks, is within a stone’s throw of the 
car window almost the entire distance. The 
ever-changing mountain scenery is fascinating, 
picturesque, magnificent, and the tree-fringed 
shores, carven cliffs, stones of many colors by 
the road-side, are replete with romantic splen- 
dor. 

Soon the dewy freshness of the dawn was dis- 
pelled by the morning sunbeams which pene- 
trated the car window, and the train rolled into 
Merced in time for noon lunch. 


71 


CHAPTEE V. 


Back to her home at Long Beach, California 
— the city by the sea — Dixie went, Chester ac- 
companying her. Dixie was delighted, but no 
less than was the new acquaintance accompany- 
ing her, to return to the land of her abode and 
nativity, this haven of the beautiful, where the 
white-caps of the Pacific rise from their blue 
cradle of the deep to kiss the golden sunbeams, 
and where the waves, obedient to the wind, play 
in their tireless ramble with the sandy beach, 
as if striving to please and entertain the thou- 
sands of annual visitors to this famous and un- 
equaled summer and winter resort. 

Eeached by several railroads. Long Beach 
has a population of nearly 20,000, and is lo- 
cated on the Pacific Coast, twenty-two miles 
south of Los Angeles. The numerous visitors 
the year round, are delighted with the balmy 
breezes, the laughing, frolicking, and sometimes 
mad, waves of the sea, the long stretches of 
smoothly paved and well-kept streets, the splen- 
did homes — beautified by palmettoes, lawns, 
vines and flowers, the luxurious inns, the fine 
schools, the great commercial center and excel- 
lent citizenship — all of which conspire to ren- 


YOSEMITE 


VALLEY 


ROMANCE 


der Lon^ Beach the acme of desirableness as a 
coast resort, wherein may be found all the mod- 
ern conveniences and luxuries which are en- 
joyed in a municipality not too small for those 
who would avoid the crowded metropolis, nor 
yet too large for those who would find compara- 
tive quietude in city life. 

At Long Beach, a very large area possesses 
the topographical, scenic and climatic charac- 
teristics that foster a residential district of the 
higher class. Entirely distinct from this, and 
yet most conveniently situated, is another great 
area, having the natural conformation inevita- 
bly associated with commerce and industry. 

From the bluff fronting on the Strand a high 
mesa stretches back three and a half miles to 
the foot of Signal Hill. There being a gently 
sloping elevation, a beautiful view of the ocean 
is afforded on the one side and the wide-spread 
Los Angeles and Santa Anna Valleys on the 
other. Along the south front is the famous San 
Pedro Bay, which is made into a magnificent 
harbor by the enclosing arms of Catalina Island 
and the Government Breakwater. Around the 
semi-circle of the bay extends fourteen miles of 
broad, shallow beach, affording the finest and 


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safest surf bathing on the coast, and at low tide 
a wave-swept boulevard of hard sand is the last- 
ing delight of the motorist and driver. 

The world affords no finer climate than that 
of Southern California, but even here may be 
found favorved spots, and Long Beach is one 
of the most delightful and favored in this re- 
gard. In a land where severe frost and sun- 
stroke alike are unknown, there are still com- 
parative extremes of heat and cold which are 
not found here. The mountains of Catalina on 
the South and of the Palos Verdes on the West 
break the rigors of the ocean breezes in the 
winter, and the constant trade winds temper 
the summer heat, preventing either extreme and 
affording an equable temperature that has 
never failed to delight. 

California is a land of enchantment where, if 
anywhere this side of heaven, the fountain of 
youth flows in some hidden glade. Within the 
very sound of railway trains there are desolate 
stretches of pine forest, and stately palms, lone- 
ly reaches of lagoon and marsh, where even the 
dullest-eyed tourist might feel that there had 
suddenly come between him and the clattering 
world an invisible curtain. Behind it the world 


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is soon forgotten, and miracles may happen. 

Chester Oakland, a guest at Dixie’s home, 
had left the quaint cottage-like place for a walk 
to the sea-side. Tho lacking the ability to ex- 
press it, he had come to think poetry by the sea, 
but in his wonder at the strange desert land, 
which had unexpectedly disclosed itself to him, 
he forgot completely his intention. Half an 
hour before, he had left behind him the little 
wonder of the West — his Dixie. Not really his 
own, but he delighted thus to claim her. He 
now faced the blue and sparkling sea, nearly 
shut in by golden sand clilfs, and had plunged 
into the dunes, unknown to him until that sur- 
prising, mystical moment, in which the world 
dropped away, and the ocean disappeared, and, 
alone with the sand and the sky, he stood bound 
by the ineffable spell of the place — ^and his 
thoughts of Dixie. The expanse of rolling des- 
ert appealed to him, not as a scene of desolation, 
but a thing alive, pulsating with warmth and 
flame and color. Here he beheld the luster of 
gold, there the tint of glowing bronze. What 
softness lay in the green of the beech grass! 
What depth in the darker green of the stunted 
hayberry bushes! what violet shadows in the 


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hollow of the valley ! How this desert land must 
glow at sunset ! how beautiful must be its splen- 
dor under the full moon, and how awe-inspiring 
must it be on a starry night ! Even now, in the 
brightness of the afternoon, he felt the haunting 
mystery of the dunes, and, as he smote the 
fresh, ever-shifting sands with his bare hand, 
he spoke aloud his thought: ^‘This is Dixie’s 
poem, her inspiring walk, her play-ground, 
where her face gets its freshness of youth from 
the soft breath of the sea, where her cheeks steal 
the crimson of the sun-kissed waves and where 
her roaming spirit is inspired by the easy- 
winged roamers, the birds of many seas.” 

He walked on dreamily, his footsteps muffled 
in the heavy sand. The only sounds that broke 
the stillness were the low moaning of the surf, 
and the plaintive cry of a wheeling gull. Un- 
der the enchantment of the place, he forgot that 
the world existed. He seemed strangely close 
to some great elemental force. Was it in the 
surroundings, or in his heart? He had walked 
away from the beach when he suddenly came 
upon Dixie who sat in the golden sand like a 
child in ‘ ‘ a play house. ’ ’ 


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Hello! you down here too?’^ he said, ‘H 
thought you were at the house. 

‘H’m like yonder sea-birds,’’ replied Dixie, 
with a bright smile, ‘ ‘ I like to be on the wing. ’ ’ 

From the slight eminence of the sand hill, he 
looked back to the sea, blue and dreaming, not 
far away. He gazed at its sapphire and the 
gold of the sands, then at Dixie’s honey-colored 
hair, the delicate oval of her cheek, and then, as 
a perfect whole, all her grace and radiant beau- 
ty. 

Eeturning the gaze, she looked at him as a 
dreamer of lovely, strange dreams. For a long 
half moment, they looked at each other — as they 
might have gazed on a distant star. 

‘‘Do you care if I linger here,” he asked. Her 
face lighted up instantly. 

“Not in the least,” she replied — ^more like an 
unpretentious child than a beautiful, grown-up 
woman. 

They talked, and her speech revealed her love 
for the sea, and sky, and the dunes. The sea, 
mirroring the red of the afternoon sun, it 
seemed, might have been painted with her 
heart’s blood — she seemed so much a part of 
the enchanted place. 


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Can’t you see poetry in yonder wave, there 
in the graceful sailing of that bird, and here in 
the gold of fresh sand?” 

^‘Yes, but I can see a great deal more here,” 
he replied, pointing to where she sat, and smil- 
ing. 

hoped you wouldn’t think this an out-of- 
the-world place,” she mused. 

In his enthusiasm, he sat down on the low 
mound beside her, and began to talk to her as 
tho he had always known her. 

In all his life of travel, he thought that he had 
never seen a woman so beautiful, and one who 
so influenced him, and if he had ever been shy, 
he forgot his shyness in his rapture, as he 
poured out a brilliant flow of stories — and 
wooed her with his eyes. 

And the girl listened in sheer delight, the col- 
or coming and going in her cheeks. They com- 
pared notes on various places they had each 
seen, for they both had traveled in many lands. 
And as they talked, he watched her animated 
face as he would revel in a beautiful painting or 
a marvelous sunset. 

‘‘What a congenial mate you would make for 
me,” he thought. 


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From the ends of the earth, they finally re- 
turned in their conversation — to the land and 
sand and sea about them. 

have never seen a place more beautifully 
romantic,’’ he said, ‘‘than Yosemite and here — 
Yosemite, because there we met, and here, be- 
cause it’s your abode and because you grace 
this enchanted spot.” 

“Before I met you,” he continued, “I had 
grown tired of the world, of people, and almost 
of existence. I mean no mere flattery when I 
say that the moment I made your acquaintance 
life seemed to grow brighter and existence more 
desirable. Little wonder that you are so peace- 
ful here. One seems so alone with the sky and 
the sea. It is so clean, so pure. I feel that the 
world might be but just created for you — and 
for me.” 

She turned to him eagerly. 

“You feel it?” she cried. “Oh, I am glad! 
A pessimist might call it dull, dreary. I have 
invited friends from New York and Boston up 
here to my little bungalow, and they were al- 
was delighted with the environment, this — that 
I love so.” Her flashing eyes and the sweet 
tone of her voice sent a little thrill thru him. 


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never tire of the dear blue sea,’^ she went 
on, after a moment. ‘ ‘ I am never lonely. Some- 
times in winter I go to New York or Boston, or 
Paris, perhaps, for two or three months, to see 
the exhibitions; perhaps study a bit; but I^m al- 
ways glad to get back. The first of March finds 
me in my bungalow, watching the waves and 
birds and listening to their songs. Such blue 
seas as we have then! One doesnT find such 
color in mid-summer. You donT know the sea 
unless you live with it, as I do. It’s in my blood, 
I suppose. I come of a race of sea captains, on 
my father’s side.” 

When the shadows slanted purple across the 
dunes, they walked back together thru the sand, 
feeling like old friends. 

^^I’m sure I knew you a thousand years ago,” 
he laughed. ^'Do you believe in the transmi- 
gration of souls?” 

''Yes — no.” She was grave. "If I was here 
before, I am sure I was a sea gull. They seem 
nearer, closer to me now than most human be- 
ings. I am sure they have souls.” 

She stopped, and stood motionless, watching 
one lonely sea bird sailing far overhead, its 
great pinions gleaming white against the fatli- 


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omless blue. She was so absorbed that she 
seemed to forget his existence, and he felt an 
absurd sense of loneliness. 

Silently they walked on. Then he exclaimed 
in delight, as a sudden turn in their path re- 
vealed a low bungalow nestled between the 
dunes and the sea. 

“No wonder you love it!’^ he cried. 

They entered the quiet home with wide win- 
dows, open on three sides to the sea and the 
dunes. 

It was filled with all the freshness of sea 
winds and sunshine. Masses of beautiful flow- 
ers added to the sunny etfect. He glanced at 
the great fireplace, in readiness for the cool 
evening. A grand piano was strewn with music. 
Books filled low bookcases. Above them, pic- 
tures opened glimpses into other lands. Silken 
cushions of soft, faded rose and green piled up 
in broad window seats invited one to loaf and 
dream. Over and above all came the low boom- 
ing of the surf below. 

“ It ^s the most solitary place in the world, and 
the most habitable, he cried, in sheer delight. 
“What more could the heart of man — or wo- 
man — desired’ 


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To them both, after that first day’s meeting, 
it seemed the most natural thing in the world to 
talk and walk together every morning. Day 
after day, out under the sky, beside the sea, in 
the heart of the dune, or in her studio among 
her books and pictures, their friendship deep- 
ened. With Chester, the relation was more than 
friendship. He idealized her, set her on a ped- 
estal high above himself, and silently worshiped 
her. 

All the world had changed to him in those re- 
cent days of association with Dixie. He loved 
her not alone for her beauty, but unmistakably 
for her very self. Leaving Dixie awhile to her- 
self, the full moon found him out in the dunes, 
unconscious of himself and of everything in the 
world but the supreme fact that love had come 
to him with all the more depth and intensity. 
He stood still on the brow of a low dune, and 
drew in deep drafts of the bracing air that 
rushed to him with the tang of untold leagues of 
briny waves. Then he flung himself down upon 
the sand, exulting in his closeness to the warm, 
throbbing heart of the earth mother. All about 
him was profound silence, except for the faintly 
heard beat of the ocean. 


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‘‘To lose Dixie,’’ he thought, “would be to 
live a life without a single smile or a word of 
love — would be like clipping the wings of a sea 
gull. ’ ’ 

Love taught him many things — to catch the 
spirit of the dunes, and to listen to the secrets 
which the winds and the waves are ever striving 
to reveal. And in turn, he taught Dixie many 
things. He opened to her wider vistas and 
taught her more of life than she had ever 
known, he inspired her to think as she had never 
thought before. And she, in turn, came to him 
with all her troubles, her perplexities, her hopes, 
and her fears. Never in all his life had he come 
so close to the heart of a woman. 

He became conscious, after a little, of a still 
closer tie of sympathy that drew them together. 

Alone in the moon-lit night, while watching 
the surf break on the beach, he was wondering 
deep in his heart, whether the time might ever 
come when Dixie would fully return his love — 
would she ever consider the making of their 
lives as one? 

The next morning found them still together 
— alone by the surf. Chester felt the sweet spir- 
it of youth and love and beauty growing each 


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moment of that heavenly morning. He talked 
— talked a long time and in the spirit becoming 
a lover. She listened intently, with her beauti 
fill, fathomless eyes fixed on him, the color com- 
ing and going in her young face. 

hope,’’ he said, ^Hhat you will not longer 
defer telling me how to tear down the barrier 
between us. You said that there was a great 
deal to be done. I am ready to go to the limit 
of my power for one whom I so really and truly 
love. ’ ’ 

All his passionate nature flashed into his eyes 
as he uttered the words, and he felt the sudden 
rapidity of his heart-beats. 

She turned to view him more closely, and 
seated herself on a low mound of sand, her 
hands clasping her knees, her soft hair blowing 
in the sea wind, her eyes fixed on the open sea. 
She was silent for a long time, while he was still 
thinking, glancing down at her occasionally, not 
wanting to interrupt her reverie. 

‘‘You don’t care if I go away, if I leave you 
forever!” he asserted. 

She looked up into his face, her eyes like 
stars. 

All the color faded from her face. She sat up 


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very straight, and gazed at him with grave, 
sweet eyes. 

‘‘You think sol You really believe thatT’ 
she questioned. Then she looked away, and the 
slow red mounted to her cheeks. 

The young couple looked like a rare picture, 
so strong, so good to look upon — each with a 
rare temperament, such keen love of life — like 
a god and goddess, as they stood in the search- 
ing gaze of each other ^s face and the deep, blue 
ocean. 

‘ ‘ Mr. Oakland, ’ ’ began Dixie, ‘ ‘ doubtless you 
have been wondering what would he my demand 
of you, or rather what plan I would devise to 
restore justice to the five girls you have wooed 
and left disappointed to mourn your depart- 
ure. ’ ’ 

“If you care to have our acquaintance con- 
tinue,” she added, “I will now tell you the re- 
quirement, and explain the plan — otherwise, it 
is needless — ^my telling. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ It does make a difference to me, ’ ’ he replied,. 
“I’m ready to know your requirement, to hear 
your plan.” 

“It is simply this,” she explained: “Go to the 
five girls, tell each of them that you want to 


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atone for the wrong you have done her by help- 
ing her marry another man. Then go to the 
man who is paying her his attentions; tell him 
that you knew the girl first, that you intend win- 
ning her in case he doesn’t want her, but as a 
respecter of his rights and wishes, you will set 
a future date, until which, you pledge him not 
to see or write to her, but after which, you will 
do your best to woo and win her heart and hand. 

‘‘Doubtless in each case, the man will be jeal- 
ous of you — one who seems so determined and 
handsome, and I ween that not one of the five 
men will let the date of their fate pass.” 

“Who on earth but ‘Dixie Darlington’ would 
have ever thought of that?” exclaimed Chester, 
“it’s a grand scheme!” 

“Do you mean to say,” Chester added, “that 
if I do this successfully, there will be no barrier 
between us?” 

“Do all of this,” she replied, “and when you 
come back, your Dixie will be waiting for you — 
waiting to make you happy.” Dixie smiled to 
encourage him — a bewildering smile with which 
she had so far paid her way in the world. 

“You’re leaving me a powerful lot to do while 
I’m away.” At first he smiled quizzically. Then 


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suddenly his face grew serious, and there was a 
flash in his eyes as he answered: try, if 

you want me to, for I reckon, ’ ’ he began speak- 
ing more swiftly, ‘‘I reckon you’re just about 
the wisest and the best person there is — and the 
prettiest, ’ ’ he finished lamely. 

Dixie felt herself blushing ever so little. 

There is always a certain exhilaration in ad- 
vising others. Her cheeks glowed, and her 
honey-colored hair was blown by the sea breeze. 
Problems of her own had been tormenting her 
for days ; it was pleasant to escape for once in- 
to some one else’s troubles. 

Now the burden was his to bear. ‘Hf he is 
worthy of my confidence, and really in earnest, 
he ’ll do this, or at least he ’ll try ; if not, he ’s un- 
worthy, and my aim is to have nothing to do 
with any man who proves unworthy of my 
love. ’ ’ Thinking this, she shifted the whole re- 
sponsibility from her shoulders to his. 

What happened to her just then Dixie never 
quite understood. Suddenly the unusual task 
she had determined on stood out before her as 
if lit up by lightning flashes in a lowering night. 
It was not that she repented, not that she medi- 
tated even for an instant taking any other 


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course than the one she had started upon, yet 
somehow she was sorry for Chester who was so 
willing to atone. And the thought of this young 
life, this fresh, loyal heart gallantly pledging 
itself if only for a moment to the future she 
chose, just because she had chosen it, brought 
tears suddenly to her eyes. She was conscious 
of a strange, suffocating emotion and giddiness 
in the bright sunlight. In spite of herself she 
cried out in sudden appeal: ^‘You won’t make 
a mess out of it will you?” 

‘‘With the love I have for you,” he replied, 
“can you not trust my ability to do this?” 

This reply almost stunned her. 

“To gain much, one must be willing to do 
much,” he added, “it’s no child’s task— this 
undertaking, but I must succeed— good-bye, I 
must go quickly.” 

“You’re gallant, good-bye,” then she added 
softly, “and you’ll come back?” 

“Yes, I’ll come back.” 

^ They clasped hands. Somehow, as she lost 
sight of him in the distance, unwelcome tears 
again flooded her eyes. Once he turned and 
waved to her. Dixie watched until he was only 
a black atom among the foot-paths. 


88 


CHAPTER VI* 


Every beautiful morning, Dixie took a walk 
to the sea — and sat in the sand — ^the same spot 
where Chester had left her, and from which 
place she had watched him till space swallowed 
his form in the distance. He had roused in the 
woman a kind of half romantic pity, yea, a 
growing young love. Dixie wondered whether 
he would remember the shore where a long 
stretch of white beach was kissed by the blue 
waves where they were last together. 

She never quite forgot the longing, deter- 
mined look on Chester’s handsome face on the 
bright morning of his departure. The time 
lengthened into days and weeks and months 
since Dixie had clasped his hand. No two days 
in Love’s calendar are alike. Now Dixie had 
assumed a mood of uneasiness, and almost felt 
that she had driven him away forever — a thing 
she would not willingly have done for the whole 
world. A strangeness seemed to possess Dixie’s 
sentiment. Even in her flower-garden, the 
morning blossoms revealed new miracles. The 
birds that once almost ate crumbs from her 
hands, seemed shy of her presence, and seemed 
to fear her very melancholy. 


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Tho she had driven Chester to his tremendous 
task, Dixie realized that it was sweet to know 
that he had gone because of his love for her, and 
had promised to return. A long reflection over 
the possibility of the failure of Chester’s effort 
at atonement drove Dixie to write him the fol- 
lowing letter : 

“My dear Chester: — I am addressing you according to 
your direction, and I hope that if this fails to reach you 
direct, you will have left proper forwarding notices at the 
post offices along your route, whereby this may reach you 
safely and in time. In my quiet moments of reflection 
since your departure, I have wept many times because I 
sent you away on such a questionable — and now it some- 
times seems to me quixotic — errand. You are surely the 
one loyal man in a thousand, or you would not have so 
willingly started on a journey involving such personal 
sacrifice and such possible failures and disappointing con- 
sequences. If you were only hack here in this lonely place 
where I could feel the sunshine of your presence, I would 
not drive you away again. Doubtless you think me very 
cruel and inconsiderate of your happiness, but instead, I 
want you to think of me as merciful, tender and kind. I 
am just thinking that if you should meet defeat in your 
manly endeavor, you might never come back, and the 
thought haunts me day and night. One’s honest effort to 
right a wrong, tho failing in the attempt, is the same in 
the e3"e of justice as if the attempt were successful. So, 
even tho you fail in your endeavor, you will have succeed- 
ed in complying with my demand. In case of your failure, 
you are no less welcome hack here by the restless, sad 
sea — restless and sad, because of your absence. In meet- 
ing those girls again, in talking “the old days’’ over with 
them, doubtless you will be moved by their love for you, 


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but remember, that Dixie — your Dixie by the sea, remem- 
ber — loves you more than they. I was so foolish to drive 
you from me, and from the enchanting blue sea that you 
loved so well. I delight to linger long where we rambled 
in the dear, but alas, too short days when you were here. 
I love the dunes still more because you loved them and 
these desolate surroundings — but desolate only since you 
went away. More than ever, I realize why those five girls 
loved you so — who could help loving a man like you? I 
could not consent to be so frank, had you also not been 
so frank, so honest with me. Each day I find myself look- 
ing in the direction in which you disappeared — and the 
horizon seems like some strange revelation — like some 
monster that had swallowed you from my view. I feel a 
strangeness which I cannot describe, a sadness which I 
cannot explain, a longing which I cannot prevent. When 
I think of the indifferent way in which I treated your ex- 
pressed emotion, I become angry with myself. While you 
are somewhere out in the world fighting against the 
stream — honestly endeavoring to atone for past error, I 
feel that I am the one who ought to do the atoning. I have 
driven you away from welcome arms, from what, to you, 
seemed an enchanted place, and I do so much deplore my 
mistake. Now I can atone only with my sadness — and 
hope to be forgiven. Be brave, my boy; come back to me, 
and the calling welcome of the blue sea — come back to 
one so fondly anfi truly yours, 

DIXIE.” 

Dixie waited many days, and wlien no word 
or line came back from Chester, she decided that 
he had either not received her letter or else had 
ceased to think of her. But one day, as she sat 
day-dreaming, a letter came from Chester, but 
contained no word of acknowledgment of her 
letter to him. It read : 


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“Dear Dixie: — I have mustered my power and what tact 
I possessed, and all the genius I could command, only to 
meet defeat. Not absolute defeat, however, for prospects 
of success are not entirely wanting. I have visited the five 
girls to whom I am now seeking to do tardy justice, and 
have made to each an honest confession, proposed my plan 
to aid them in getting married — or should I say ‘our plan’? 
and all are delighted with the idea. And now, having seen 
two of their lovers, my next task is to see the other three. 
The two I have seen, became quite jealous of me at once 
— one became really angry. I think, however, your scheme 
will prove the magic to aid Cupid as nothing else could do. 
If I succeed in all five of the cases I’ll come back to you 
by the enchanting sea. If I meet defeat, I suppose I shall 
have to meet my fate as bravely as a man can. But where 
love inspires, the magic, the wonderful may happen; and 
as you well know, you are my inspiration. In case ‘our 
plan’ succeeds, I have directed each of the five girls to 
write me immediately, and gave your post box at Long 
Beach as my address. Should they write, you are hereby 
authorized to open said letters as they arrive. To-day I 
am dreaming of ‘Dixie by the laughing, blue sea’ — of our 
walks and talks in that lovely part of this romantic old 
globe, and tho I am far away from you, my thoughts en- 
circle you like a strand of honeysuckles might circle a 
flower-garden. Now, good-bye little girl — my Dixie, good- 
bye. From your loving CHESTER.” 

Not many months later, Dixie found letter 
No. 1, addressed to Chester — in her mail box. 
Opening it as per her lover ’s direction, her glad 
eyes perceived the following : 

“Dear Chester, my dear friend of old, you will be glad 
to know that as a result of your efforts and talk with the 
man I was seeking to win, I have ‘landed my fish’ safely 

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— and lie and I are living happily together in our splendid 
new home. Your scheme proved a world-wonder — but no 
one hut you could have ever made it successful — for your 
handsomeness (pardon .this) can make the best of men 
jealous — and when a man sees his danger of losing the 
prize, (pardon again) he gets desperate at once. Human 
nature is a queer thing, you know — yes, you know it like 
a hook. I can never thank you enough for your scheme in 
making a husband of my sweetheart. Gratefully yours, 

THELMA.” 

The following day Dixie had the pleasure of 
opening letter No. 2. : 

“Dear Chester,” it read. “You said that I should write 
you when the thing happened, and in gratitude for your 
kindness, here’s the news: He and I became engaged last 
evening during our moon-lit walk. Old boy. I’ll sure send 
you a piece of wedding-cake — the biggest, the first and the 
nicest slice. Your old friend, ANNETTA.” 

Two weeks later, followed letter No. 3. : 

“Chester, I could hardly wait to get my pen and ink to 
inform you that something has happened — and that ‘some- 
thing’, as you have already guessed, is the very thing I 
had failed to bring about with all my efforts — but which 
you, in some queer way, brought about with perfect magi- 
cal ease. Of course, I refer to my recent marriage to 
George. He hates you like a snake, and if he really knew 
it all — my! I don’t know what! I remain your happy mar- 
ried friend, EDNA.” 


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Another week brought letter No. 4. : 

“Dear Mr. Oakland: At first I privately laughed at your 
proposed plan — but last Sunday, just after a lovely dinner 
to which I had invited my sweetheart, he ‘popped the ques- 
tion,’ as a rube would term it. And, Chester, you know 
that I am such a lover of the old days of my girlhood on 
the farm, I sometimes like to use some of those queer old- 
time phrases to express myself. Yet, of course, you know, 
I never indulge in the use of slang. Your plan proved O. K. 
— but for goodness sake, keep it quiet! Yours thankfully, 

ESTELLE.” 

It seemed a long time to Dixie, ere the last 
message came — ^but letter No. 5 pleased her no 
little : 


“Mr. Chester Oakland, Dear Sir: — Henry and I were 
married a fortnight since at the Hillside church. I credit, 
partly, our union to your unique effort in interviewing 
Henry as you did. We have just returned from our honey- 
moon in Canada. I will ever remember you with much 
gratitude. Very truly yours, HAZEL.” 

While Dixie felt much gratified in receiving 
the five letters which proved her suggested plan 
a success, the one thing to happen, for which she 
was longing, was for the return of Chester. 
Many a hero wins and never knows the victory. 
‘‘Could this be the case,’’ she wondered, “with 
the victory Chester had wrought — not only in 


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the successful conclusion of his endeavor to 
have brought about the five marriages, hut his 
victory in winning Dixie’s heart. Yea, many a 
battle is won and peace declared, and the heroes, 
who made possible, the victory, often never live 
to see the sweet fiag of peace wave above the 
battle-field. Chester had fought — and had won 
the battle — now would he claim the victory?” 
Yea, would he know that he had won? Dixie 
waited and longed impatiently — but as patient- 
ly as a lover could, under like circumstances. 


95 


CHAPTEB VII. 


After many months of wandering, Chester 
Oakland made good his promise — returning to 
Dixie at her home — the same suburban bunga- 
low by the sea where the girl had long waited 
for the coming of her lover. 

^‘Oh, I knew you would come sometime — I 
knew you would come back,^’ cried Dixie, ^‘and 
IVe waited these long, long months.^’ 

‘ ‘ It seemed like years to me, ’ ’ Chester replied. 
‘‘It seems ages since I left you by the sea — 
since I saw your face — the face which has since 
been my star on earth, like the one bright star 
which guided the wise men to the manger Di- 
vine, this star has guided me back. ’ ’ 

The stately palms, the red birds and the blue 
birds flashing in and out of the magnolias, the 
mysterious mangroves, the calm, blue sea, the 
unbelievable sunset skies — everything about 
them seemed to echo this wonderful love of 
theirs. Tliey felt that all this was the setting 
that God had made for their romance. They 
would spend their lives here in a little white cot- 
tage on the side of a dreamland hill. 

“The little spots of golden sunlight are sift- 
ing down thru the spray,’' he exclaimed, and 


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‘‘dancing fantastically on the dark water. Let 
ns go there, dear. ’ 

Dixie followed gladly, and her eyes had con- 
tracted the habit of following him wherever he 
went, for to Dixie, Chester was good to see — 
tall, well developed of figure, his shoulders mus- 
cular under the white flannel shirt, and with the 
pliant freshness of youth in every line. The 
two lovers stood hand in hand — their eyes, all 
dewy like the fields at dawn, made speechless 
speech, altho their lips were dumb, dumb with 
the greatness of their thoughts. 

The secluded place they sought was in the 
heart of scattered weed-like growth — dew- 
drenched and swaying in a gentle breeze; their 
ceiling the blue sky flecked with tossed streak of 
windy clouds ; their carpet had for pattern the 
deep marks of heavy sands, fringe of grass 
spangled with flowers, humble flowers that curt- 
sied to the wind as overlord. Their eyes opened 
on a field of queer shells that caught the reflec- 
tion of the ocean and the sky’s delightful blue — 
but, to the exalted condition of their minds, this 
very spot opened on the great wide world. 

Their faces, like the rude beauties of Nature, 
shone with the bright beauty of heaven — and 


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they had in their eyes that calm expression, the 
deep, unfathomable virtue of a life bounded by 
huge horizons, great seas, infinity of stars, the 
purple gloom of woods and the wonders of the 
trackless Pacific. 

As the world aims, so they aimed at some har- 
bor for their lives, some simple explanation of 
the secret of existence, some little set of rules to 
go by and to say by, ‘^This is life as we would 
have it lived.’’ 

They had the world before them, and they 
chose the earth’s enchanted spot of inviting 
solitude. 

When Dixie found a moment to spare she 
liked to go out and talk to Chester. After sup- 
per there was still a long clear twilight, and that 
was her quiet time. She could sit in the low 
sand and look into his face, and hear stories of 
the day. She loved this time. There were not 
only the clever stories to be heard by her asso- 
ciation with this man of knowledge — of wide 
travel, but the inspiration he injected into one’s 
life, the peace that calmed one’s fears, and the 
power which revealed the very beauty of his 
soul. To them — ^just Chester and Dixie — the 
place which they chose to talk over life’s sacred 


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phases, was a dreamland, not far away from 
flowers of every color, — rich with perfume ; and 
the blue waves swelling with every passing 
breeze and breaking only to caress the golden 
sand. 

“For long, long months,’’ he said, “I have 
been longing to tell my Dixie the love that has 
filled my heart since the dawn of our knowledge 
of each other ’ ’ — and he drew closer by her side. 

Dixie pushed him back with her hand, but her 
heart was singing as she tossed back her head of 
honey-colored hair. Her eyes were misty as 
she held her face to the west wind, but it is not 
always possible to keep the tears from coming, 
even tho they are happy tears. 

The hours passed quickly — more quickly than 
they knew. The wind had ceased, and the moon 
rode high in a cloudless sky. After the day of 
fragrant service, the flowers turned their faces 
toward the stars, and drank the mist of dew- 
drops. 

Dixie had made no response to his tender 
emotion. 

“Would you care,” he added, “had I not 
come back ? ’ ’ This time she did not smile. 

The air was heavy with the perfume of the 


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sleeping flowers. Bathed in the mystic glow of 
romance, it seemed a setting more suited to the 
cold fishes of the Pacific, than to Dixie whose 
only response seemed resistance. 

Yet in this man’s heart the enchanted night, 
the perfumed air, the romantic scene on which 
his eyes rested, and — ah! more than all else — 
the white human figure in the heavy sand — all 
fanned a flame that almost swayed his whole 
body. 

If there was any emotion that his face be- 
trayed it was certainly not a pleasant one. In 
the steady eyes was a look of anxiety, almost of 
fear. 

Yet they bore only the dimmest reflection of 
the storm of emotions that raged behind them. 
A hundred thoughts were passing thru his mind, 
and not one that did not bear a sting — not one 
that lifted for an instant the cloud of despair 
that had fastened upon him. 

And then — a low, sweet voice was suddenly 
calling to him— a voice that stilled every other 
sound and quieted the gripping anguish that 
racked every nerve. 

‘‘Chester, you think I’m not glad to have you 
back with me by the sea T ’ mused Dixie. ‘ ‘ Why, 


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heaven only knows how I counted the days of 
your absence — of course I^m glad you’re back.” 

Chester ’s heart again grew light, and his face 
beamed with pleasure. They sat thus in sweet 
communion until the hour grew late. 

Occasionally a bat fluttered above their heads, 
and in the distant, dim spaces the birds piped 
queer, frightened notes. From a clump of trees 
came the monotonous hoot of the whippoorwill. 
The wind, which had blown otf the sea all day, 
now drifted back gently from the land, carrying 
the scent of pines, and the faint odor of orange- 
blossoms from the splendid groves. It was a 
living night, yet one could be very lonely in it 
if he were alone. 

Dixie,” he began, have decided to ask 
you tonight to be my life-partner, I — I — love 
you as I love no one else — we are congenial and 
can be happy together — always. ’ ’ 

Dixie looked up with a brightened face. In 
that instant she caught a rosy glimpse of the 
future, and in that moment, she saw a good 
man’s strong arm and brave heart offering to 
ease her little self over the rough places of the 
earth. She suddenly knew that she was listen- 
ing, not to a boy by the romantic old sea, but to 


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a real man, a man who had proved himself to be 
solid gold, a man who was destined to fill a place 
in the world. His penetrating dark eyes looked 
honestly into hers, and she knew that he was 
offering her his fresh yonng heart — ^yet a brave 
heart — one that a woman needs thruont her life- 
time. 

Suddenly he found a beautiful moist face — 
moist with happy tears — against his, and a 
trembling, but happy girl in his arms. The 
wind rose and rocked the waves like a cradle. 
The moon peeped over the gray cloud in greater 
romantic beauty — a real ‘‘lover’s moon” — a 
moon of gold and silver and heavenly hue that 
lights the earth everywhere — ^making a lovely 
night for all lovers such as they. 


102 


CHAPTEE VIIL 


The following day found Chester and Dixie 
again at their love-making. The sea was calling 
them, and they plunged into the sandy waste 
that lay shadowy, romantic and mysterious un- 
der the velvety sky. It had been but a few hours 
since Chester had asked Dixie ^s father for his 
daughter's hand, receiving as reply, ‘‘I will an- 
swer you tomorrow. ’ ^ 

“I wonder,’^ mused Chester, ‘^whether your 
father has his answer by nowV^ 

‘‘All night I did not sleep, Dixie replied, as 
she handed Chester a note, her father ^s reply. 

“Dear Mr. Oakland,” it read, “after deliberate considera- 
tion, I cannot give a favorable answer to your question — 
at least just now. However, we believe you to be a gen- 
tleman, and fully worthy of the best there is in woman- 
hood, but Dixie is our only daughter, you know, our jewel, 
our household’s most precious ornament. Hence, you will 
not think us unkind. With assurances of greatest respect, 
I am, yours respectfully, 

T. E. DARLINGTON.” 

“Ha! ha!’’ Chester exclaimed, “your father 
makes me laugh.” “I wonder,” he added, “if 
I will have to just take you any way — against 
his will ? ’ ’ Dixie turned ghostly white and drew 
a little farther away — somewhat coldly, he 
thought. She bit her lip, her hands fell to her 


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side, and as she spoke, her face resumed its deli- 
cate color. 

she replied, ^^we must respect father’s 
wishes — or — or — . ’ ’ 

^‘Eespect thunder!” he interrupted, ^‘we 
belong to each other! No hand can, no hand 
shall, keep up apart ! ’ ’ Then he himself drew a 
little farther away. She did not suspect that he 
shrank back because he was almost overpowered 
by a desire to take her in his arms, and pour out 
a flood of passionate words of love. 

She turned her face toward the sapphire sea. 
He knew that she was hurt by his slight with- 
drawal of body, and he watched her in an agony 
of heartbreak, as he thought : 

‘^My God, I cannot give her up — I cannot, I 
cannot ! ’ ’ Soul, and mind, and heart cried out 
for her. 

Suddenly she spoke and her voice had the 
low, passionate notes in it that he had noticed 
when she was deeply moved. 

spent a restless night over father’s atti- 
tude, ’ ’ she said, ‘ ‘ and the wind blew all night — 
and such a sad gale it seemed. Something 
seemed to be calling me out into the dunes. I 
lay awake hour after hour, looking into the 

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darkness, listening to tke snrf, and longing to be 
out bere with — ^witb you.’^ 

The heartburning fear was constantly in 
Dixie’s mind all day — the fear that something 
was going to conspire to keep her from the man 
of her choice. A blur came before her inner 
vision — a gray fog which gradually resolved 
itself into rolling sand hills, bronze, and gold, 
and silver in the sunshine, with glimpses of the 
sapphire sea beyond. Overhead, the gulls were 
flying low, their white wings gleaming in the 
sun, and from the distance came the muffled roar 
of the surf. The whole scene was more full of 
mystery, of illusion, than ever before. In Dixie ’s 
beautiful young eyes lay a tragic look, when she 
said : 

have such a strange, uncanny feeling to- 
day that something is going to happen. The sad 
sea reminds me of the invisible world around us, 
where mysterious things are happening beyond 
our understanding. It reaches up long 
arms into the sky, and seizes on wandering 
messages out of w'hat, to us, is blue emptiness. 
It makes me feel more and more that for us here 
on this lonely sand, there is but one road away 
from this place that leads to our happiness.” 


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She opened wide her arms to the sea and sky in 
a graceful little gesture, and then turning to him 
half shy — mean — I guess — ^we’ll have to run 
off to Europe. ’ ^ 

‘‘I would go with you to the world’s end, 
dear,” he replied, ‘‘but leave it to me, and I’ll 
see to it that your father consents to our 
marriage. ’ ’ 

She stopped her restless movements, and lay 
very still, as tho listening. Then, opening her 
eyes, she turned them slowly, very slowly, to 
him, as tho she were afraid to look lest she 
should be disappointed. For a moment, she 
studied him curiously. Then a perfect rapture 
lighted up her face, and her soul seemed to leap 
into her eyes, as like a little child, she said, 
“How — ^what do you mean? How can you make 
father change his mind?” 

“Leave it to me, dear,” he replied, “I’ll tell 
you later. ’ ’ 

Chester lay in the sand, looking into space for 
a moment, as if revolving some scheme in his 
mind. 

“Dixie,” suggested Chester, almost com- 
manding, “we’ll go to Santa Catalina Island, 
where your father, mother and little brother 


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Eobert are spending the day fishing. The Island 
is beautiful now, and the sea is calm for a fine 
ride in the motor boat to San Pedro, where we ^11 
take a steamer for that ^ Magic Isle, ’ ' which has 
been the friendly ‘ dream spot ’ of so many lovers 
such as we.^’ 

^‘You donT intend to urge father to-day to 
consent to our marriage interrogated Dixie, 
whose questioning look was without one ray of 
hope. 

^‘Nothing is impossible in that hill-clad land 
of ‘ The Magic Isle, ^ ^ ^ retorted Chester. Contin- 
uing, he said, ‘‘Cupid never sleeps, but is ever 
alert and accommodating on those romantic, 
dream-kissed shores.^’ 

A few hours later Chester, love-thrilled and 
daring, and Dixie, obedient, and growing more 
hopeful, reached the Island — ^both with the one 
idea of making their dreams come true on that 
sea-kissed, sun-bathed land amidst scenery 
befitting their remarkable romance. 

Upon arrival, the anxious couple had lunch at 
the Hotel Metropole — the finest inn on the 
Island — after which an earnest search of 
Dixie’s father was begun. 

Santa Catalina Island, one of the most 


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charming, unique and picturesque islands of the 
Pacific, is an area of mountainous land twenty- 
two miles long, from one to eight miles wide, 
and contains approximately 55,000 acres. It is 
populated by the beautiful and thriving little 
resort city of Avalon. The sea-water projecting 
into the crescent curve of the Island at the city 
of Avalon, is called Avalon Bay. 

Santa Catalina Island is distant from the 
mainland about eighteen miles, altho it is 
twenty-seven miles from San Pedro to Avalon. 

San Pedro (the place to board the steamers 
for the Island) is twenty-seven miles from Los 
Angeles, and five miles from Long Beach. 

The two highest peaks of this ocean mountain 
range — Orizaba and Black Jack — are 2109 and 
2000 feet respectively. 

There is very lilttle level on the island, 
consisting, as it does, of mountains cut by deep 
canyons and ravines, making it extremely 
picturesque. A remarkable and well-kept 
mountain road extends from Avalon to the 
Isthmus, a distance of twenty-five miles, and the 
coach ride over this road, or to the Summit — 
four miles — is one of the most beautiful in the 
world. 


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God built the rolling mountains 
With climate far renowned; 

He whispered to the waters, 

And bade them circle round. 

On these fair dream-kissed shores, 

The sea and sunbeams smile. 

And romantic Catalina 
Is the lover ’s magic Isle. 

In the words of McGroarty, ‘‘Never came 
wanderer away from this little world of sun and 
peace and calm, nestled in the warm embrace of 
the summer seas, without regret and the longing 
to return. There is a lure in every isle, even in 
bleak and desolate isles, but the lure of Santa 
Catalina is the lure of glowing mountains, and 
wide, blue waters, flower-bespangled uplands 
and dream-kissed valleys, forested canyons, 
bays and estuaries, swinging short lines and the 
sun-harbored town of Avalon. 

God left nothing undone in the making of the 
golden land of California, even to the flecking of 
its thousand miles of white swept shore with 
luring islands. Between the Farralones and the 
Coronados there is many an island, some that 
are the size of a principality and some no larger 


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than a ship’s deck, each with its own peculiar 
fascination and picturesque individuality. 

But the fairest of all the California islands is 
Santa Catalina — ‘Hhe magic isle in a summer 
sea.” 

I delight to dwell in this lovely spot — tho it 
be but for a little while at a time ; I like to dream 
on the beach of this Crescent bay — ^in the 
embracing arms of mountain-peaks, for here by 
the laughing sea I can steal away from the tug 
of care — to rest and dream and forget. 

For Santa Catalina is at once a haven and a 
heaven. Its back is to the broad expanses of the 
sea whence come the driving winds. In the deep 
shelter of the canyons, and especially where 
clings to the hills the little, terraced, nest- 
builded town of Avalon, there is eternal calm 
and the endless comfort of warmth. The 
winter-wearied traveler can scarce believe his 
senses when he sits in Avalon at evening after a 
day of wandering thru the sunlit valleys of the 
Island and over its sinuous mountain trails, 
tender with the glow of bright skies, that away 
beyond the mainland mountains lies the land 
from whence he came bitter with snow and cold. 
He looks upon the red holly berries, the wild 


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lilac and the cherry blossoms in his hands, and 
wonders how it can he true that he is thus 
endowed with summer and its blossoms on a 
winter’s day. And, as he wonders, he feels 
creeping back into his worn nerves and his 
harassed blood the return of health and calm, as 
from his heart there rises a song of praise to the 
Grod of sun and sky and sea. 

If it were only that this magic island is a place 
of peace, as immune from winter as an equator- 
ial isle, it were enough to mark it as a spot 
apart from every other place on the round earth. 
But, added to this, Santa Catalina is of many 
wonders builded, and of endless delights. You 
will not tire of seeing the dawn break over the 
white peaks of the Sierra Madras that lift their 
gleaming summits of glory across ten leagues of 
sea and yet twenty leagues of land. Nor will 
you weary of sunsets there and of moonrises 
across the face of the deep from behind the 
eternal hills. As an angel with its great soft 
wings, so shall peace enfold you then — peace 
and the gladness that comes alone from the 
beauty of God’s handiwork recreated in your 
mortal being. 

Then comes the lure of life itself — the very 


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joy of living. And the sails of the gliding ships 
begin to haunt you. The blood of Phoenician 
ancestors stirs in your veins. The waters are 
calling. Another day and it is the hills, the 
trails, the crags and peaks that lure, awakening 
the lust for wandering roads, the quarry and the 
whir of wings. 

When weary of rambling amid the high tops 
of the peaks — ^the Silent Sentinels of the sea — 
there are a hundred other attractions on the 
Island which lure you, as flowers lure the bee. 

We are strange creatures of restless fancies 
and whimsical desires — you and I and all the 
sons and daughters of Eve and Adam. But, 
when we tire of nature, bare and unadorned of 
art, we can come down again from the hill trails 
and the lilac-scented uplands of Avalon, rein- 
troducing ourselves to civilization thru the 
medium of tennis racquets and golf links and 
the wonderful music of the restless sea. 

And in this lovely ramble we shall see seals in 
their native freedom and sea-abode, come to the 
beach and eat from the hand of any tourist offer- 
ing them food ; and the whole beac^h is alive with 
sea gulls on large dreamy wings, or sitting on 


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the bosom of the sea, or grouped together for 
their sun-bath upon some large rock. 

But let us warn ourselves in advance that we 
shall go back to the hills and the wild places 
again, afoot or horseback, or on the stage, as 
the case may be, to catch another sight of that 
sweep of mountain upland where the green of 
the chaparral, the red of the holly and the 
purple-blue of the wild lilac held us enthralled 
in its dream of beauty. This and the wild goats 
standing sheer and clear cut on a cliff against 
the blue sky — ^we must, of course, go back for 
another day of pictures like that. 

You will be delighted at the tameness of the 
sea lions which eat from the boatman’s hand. 

While a few may be seen at the boat-landing, 
the principal abode of these interesting 
creatures is at the rockery, about two miles 
down the island. Here the rocks are often 
covered by the sea lions, which are so tame that 
they permit visitors to approach within a few 
feet, and pose for their photographs with 
perfect equanimity, often greeting with loud 
roars the boats which pass. 

All the animals here are extraordinarily tame. 
Great flocks of gulls alight on the beach almost 


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within reacli of the fishermen, and the peculiar 
ravens of the island have long been famous for 
their boldness. 

While waiting for Dixie’s father to return 
with his fishing-boat nearer to the island shore, 
Chester and Dixie availed themselves of the 
unique ride in the famous big glass-bottom boat 
over the beautiful Marine Gardens of the ocean. 

Floating over the green and blue water in the 
glass-bottom boats, one sees the goings and 
comings of aquatic life. The boatman names to 
you the marine plants and the fish, and tells you 
the different depths. One is astounded, one 
questions, one exclaims. Here are shell-encrust- 
ed rocks, fish — red, green, gold, zigzagging 
leisurely among the waving foliage, the seaweed 
gracefully balancing with the tide; on the 
clear bottom the sea throws beautiful reflec- 
tions; here are real trees with long branches 
waving as on land by a tempest ; great fish of 
all shapes appear as in an artificial aquarium, 
the sea stars (star fish) shine in the shadows of 
the rocks; then more luxuriant foliage, with 
branches bearing clusters of fruit resembling 
olives. One would think these were fertile 
fields suddenly submerged by a tempest. 


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Leaning over the transparencies in the bottom 
of the boat, people become enchanted beyond 
expression. 

It was the middle of the afternoon 
when Chester saw Dixie’s father, together with 
her mother and small brother in their fishing 
boat not far from the island shore. 

‘‘Dixie,” suggested Chester, “while I arrange 
onr lines and bait, you get in the skiff and go 
around the bend of the Island where your 
father’s boat is anchored, and bring little 
Eobert to be with us.” 

“And little brother likes so much to be with 
us, ’ ’ exclaimed Dixie, as she entered the skiff to 
obey the request. 

In a little while Dixie returned to Chester, 
leading little Eobert, whose toes, pink and 
rosy, made funny little tracks in the sand. In a 
few moments, the three were on the Island 
gathering shells. 

“Dixie,” began Chester, “I’ll venture that 
little Eobert can beat you gathering shells, ’ ’ and 
showing her a certain kind, he continued, “We’ll 
see who can gather the most of these within five 
minutes. Now, I’ll take Eobert up yonder at 
the bend of the Island, and you stay here by the 


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skiff — come with me Eobert,’’ he added, ‘‘the 
race is on ! ’ ’ 

Dixie laughed at the thought of letting a little 
child excel her in this familiar art — ^but the race 
was on! Not more than four minutes later, 
Chester had carried little Eobert into a hiding- 
place of the Island. 

“Now Eobert, exclaimed Chester, in a very 
childish and simple manner — even in glee — 
‘ ‘ let ’s play Indian. You hide here — be very still 
— don’t talk — don’t move — and we’ll play like 
we’re hunting you — now, be very still while I 
run and tell Dixie. ’ ’ 

The child lay in perfect obedience — really 
enjoying the fun of it. 

Chester ran to Dixie with an artificial excited 
expression on his face, and exclaimed: “Oh! 
Dixie ! little Eobert is lost — he ran away, and I 
can ’t find him. I was gathering shells, and when 
I looked up he was gone ! ’ ’ 

Oh, Chester! poor little brother!” exclaimed 
Dixie, “what shall we do?” 

“You get in the skiff,” replied Chester, 
“don’t be so frightened, dear. I guess I’ll find 
him while you’re gone, but you go tell your 
father that Eobert is lost on the Island. I’ll 


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stay here and search for him in the meantime. 
Now, don’t he in too much of a hurry dear, he’s 
all rig'ht, just somewhere hiding from us, I 
think — just playin’ Indian — ^mayhe.” 

Dixie hastened to the skitf, and he helped to 
start her off. ^‘Now don’t get excited, dear. Go 
slowly, I know I’ll find him while you’re gone — 
and say!” he called to her as she was gliding 
away, Dixie! don’t let it excite your mother— 
it’s no use for her to he bothered any way, for 
I’ll find the child — I think I hear him now — hut 
go and tell your father. ’ ’ 

Dixie was very professional in handling a 
skiff, and after watching her till he knew that 
she was safely started, Chester rushed hack to 
Eohert. 

‘^Boo! Boo!” exclaimed the playful man — 
and the hoy enjoyed ^ Splaying Indian” no little. 

Chester entertained the child till he saw 
Dixie and her father in the skiff, nearing the 
Island shore, the father rowing vigorously — as 
if in a state of great excitement. Remaining in 
secret seclusion till Mr. Darlington and 
daughter were nearing the bend of the Island, 
close upon them, Chester took the child in his 
arms and hastened out into the waters of the 


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mad ocean among the big waves — ^held his hand 
over the child ^s nose — using a handkerchief to 
prevent strangulation, he completely baptised 
little Robert, and just as. Mr. Darlington and 
Dixie turned the bend their startled eyes beheld 
the ‘‘awful tragedy’^ — the “heroic rescue’’ of 
the child “from a watery grave.” Rodger 
hardly knew whether Dixie was laughing or 
crying, for her gladness was mingled with her 
sadness. As the tall, handsome ‘ ‘ rescuer ’ ’ waded 
out of the salty deep — ^defying the mad waves, 
with dripping clothes — and the wet child safely 
in his arms, Mr. Darlington met them with a 
half smile, a serious face and open arms. 

“He got lost on the Island, and a wave 
swallowed him in!” exclaimed the father — 
meaning the sentence as a question. 

“And the waves could have swallowed him 
completely in another half minute,” replied 
Chester, partly seeking to avoid Mr. Darling- 
ton’s direct question.. 

Then Dixie rushed to her small “rescued” 
brother,— shouting: “0! my dear little brother 
—you dear helpless child ! You have been saved 
from a watery grave — and oh, just to think ! a 


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shark might have had him in another minute, 
had it not been for Chester ! ’ ’ 

The calm father caught the girPs spirit of 
gratitude — and with enthusiasm, said: ^^Mr. 
Oakland, we’ll shake hands! You have saved 
my child’s life. You are both gallant and hero- 
ic. ’ ’ Then turning to Dixie and taking her hand 
and placing it in Chester ’s, he added : ^ ‘ I have 
no objections to a son-in-law like you. Dixie is 
yours — ^^she is a queen — treat her as such — and 
may the union always be a happy one — may God 
bless you — ^my son — my daughter.” 

The End. 


119 














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